


The Fall

by BromeliadLucy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Child Death, F/M, Gen, Original Character Death(s), Past Character Death, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-03-17 12:23:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 30,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13658895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BromeliadLucy/pseuds/BromeliadLucy
Summary: I haven't written anything in 9 months+ so please forgive the... everything. But here's me trying to get back into it!I don't even know where this is going yet so no summary.  Like I say, rusty - bear with me! :D





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note, as I've written this, I've changed the tags. I'll add the note to all chapters but from chapter 5 on there is mention of the death of a child so please don't read if this will affect you x

She was standing on the brow of the hill. The heavy rainfall had recently caused a land slip, carving a steep slope from what had been a gentle curve. The fall now was treacherous, broken tree stumps along the drop would break bones more than they would a fall; sharp gravel scree would cut through flesh and give no purchase. At the bottom, the river raged, swollen by the same storm that had broken the hill. The storm was abating but the rain was steady, and the wind blew her hair wildly although her body stood unmoving. She had one hand deep in her pocket, the other swung slowly at her side, clutching the neck of a near-empty bottle, as she stared out.

She wasn’t close enough to the edge to cause concern; anyone passing by would not have needed to stop, ask her quietly if she was ok, if they could help, if she thought she should step back a bit and take care. But her stillness suggested that perhaps she was holding herself from moving closer. And there would be no passers-by in weather like this, making her an odd and uncomfortable figure.

It was nearly dawn now, the light from the moon was low and the sun had yet to come over the horizon, although the clouds would block its light for hours to come. She stared out intently as if the scene was lit by day though, then slowly lifted the bottle, tilting her head back to swallow the last mouthfuls, throat muscles moving under the rain drops, then let it slip to the ground. She thrust both hands in her pockets now, shoulders hunched against the rain, although her clothes and hair were so wet it made little difference. She shook her head irritably as a drop ran from her hair into her eyes, and staggered slightly at the movement, the alcohol affecting her balance. She took a step forward to catch her step, then as if the movement had set her off, took another. The edge of the drop off was close now, and the ground muddy and slippery underfoot, long grass stalks weighed down by water, all smoothed by the rain towards the edge as if they were showing the way.

Another step. Head straight up, not looking where she was going. Her shoulders relaxed, rain unheeded now. Another step. She was one step from the edge now.

‘Don’t.

The word was quiet but she had thought she was alone, so surprise made her start, her feet slipping from under her, her reactions dulled by whiskey and exhaustion. She fell heavily, sliding on the grass as the edge of the cliff gave way under her weight, grass roots tearing as the mud broke free. She struggled slightly but was silent as her weight dropped over the edge. She fell.

Then stopped, her cold-stiffened shoulder protesting as it was yanked upwards, as something grabbed her arm before she could fall further. Her wrist was held firm, in a hard cold grip, that heaved her back over the edge, dragging her over mud and grass, covering her in dirt then holding on even once she was safe.

The moon came out from a cloud. She was lying on her front on the wet ground, one arm stretched above her head. She lifted her head and tried to focus bleary eyes in the low light.

The hand holding her wrist glinted with a metallic-silver shine as it let go.


	2. Chapter 2

She dropped her head, and pushed herself up to her hands and knees, wet hair sticking to her cheeks and eyes. Slowly, careful of the slippery mud, she stood up and impatiently brushed the hair away, turning her head to see. The sun was coming up now, faint yellow-grey light breaking through the clouds though the rain continued to fall. She squinted into the half-light, blinking drops from her lashes. There was a figure, hunched against the rain. He was turned slightly away from her, and all she could make out was dark hair beneath a dark cap, shoulders raised. He was bigger than her and standing close. For a moment she became aware that she was alone in the dark with this stranger, but she found it hard to care. He’d stopped her falling, and she could neither bring herself to be grateful or feel regret. Her mind was worn down by sadness and feeling anything seemed an impossible task.

‘You should go find somewhere warm, dry off. You shouldn’t be up here in the dark. It’s not safe.’ His voice was low and gravelly, quiet enough that even close as they were, it was hard to hear against the wind. 

She knew she should respond, should thank him for his help, his advice, should go on her way. But the effort seemed too much. She longed to just lie down on the grass, shut her eyes, and let the rain wash her into the mud.

‘Great.’ He sighed, and stepped forward, taking her right arm with his. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

It was easier to walk with him than resist. They walked back away from the edge towards the path, both skidding on the mud, she silently while he muttered the occasional curse under his breath. He had a tight grip on her arm, and she could feel heat radiating off him as they walked.

‘Did you drive here, you have a car?’ he asked, turning towards her. She shook her head.

‘Walked.’ Her voice sounded strained, and she wondered when she’d last spoken. She could taste the whiskey in her mouth, sour and sickening. She had walked for hours before she’d ended up here, had been walking without a destination, finding it more effort to stop or turn back than it was to keep going, until she’d reached the edge of the hill. She’d been out for hours, and it was only now she was moving that she realised how chilled she was, muscles cold and stiff under sodden clothes.

‘Perfect.’ He sighed again, and she saw him shake his head out of the corner of her eye.

They walked on in silence, the storm finally blowing itself out and the wind dying down. Trees shook in the last of the breeze, dripping rain onto them as they passed underneath. The sun rose a little higher, a watery light breaking through on occasion as the last clouds broke up. He became clearer as the day arrived. As sodden as her, he was wearing a leather jacket and jeans, heavy boots squelching in the mud as they walked down the hill. He kept his face turned away slightly, the curtain of wet hair hiding his features. 

‘Where do you live, close?’ As he spoke, he took his hand away, trusting she would continue on course. Her arm felt colder as he let go.

‘No, the other side of the city.’ As she spoke, she realised how far she had to walk still, to get back. She’d set out in the evening light, walked and drunk her way through the night and now had ended up here, a familiar place but miles from home. They had reached the bottom of the hill now, passing through a gate onto the road. She gripped onto the gatepost as her legs buckled, her exhaustion finally registering with her addled mind. 

He reached out, grabbed at her to hold her up, one arm wrapped around her waist. Cold clothes were crushed against her back by his arm, and their shoulders knocked together.

‘I got ya, keep going a bit more.’ He led her out onto the road. The street lights were still on, and they walked through pools of orange light together. Her vision doubled for a moment and she stumbled, but his arm tightened and held her up. ‘Just up here.’

He stopped at a motorbike parked at the side of the road, and she paused too, staring blankly. Now under the streetlights she could see him better. He pulled his cap off to push his hair back off his face, tugging the hat back on. As he moved his arm down she saw his hand was silver, but she was too tired to wonder now. His face was stubbly and his eyes looked sad, weary. He watched her, watching him.

‘I’ll drive you home, if you think you can hold on long enough,’ he said. ‘Don’t have a helmet, but you don’t look like you care too much.’

She didn’t. She just wanted to rest now, her body aching and cold, so she nodded, quietly giving her address and seeing his surprise at how far she’d walked through the night.

He climbed onto the motorbike, pushing it upwards off its stand, then looked back at her. The intimacy of sitting behind him suddenly struck her, but he was already reaching out a hand and helping her on. She tried holding herself back, but there wasn’t room, so she edged forward until she could feel his back against her.

‘You’ll have to hold on. I go fast.’. He reached behind, gripping one of her hands and pulling it forward. There was no meaning to the gesture, no seduction. She gripped his jacket, reaching with both hands and holding on tight as he gunned the engine and they pulled out.

Once she would have revelled in the feel of speed, the way hair blew out behind her, the feeling of being close to someone, feeling his heat through her body. Not now. She almost smiled for a moment as she imagined how Past Her would have felt at this, but for now she concentrated on holding on, and let the bike carry her home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, as I've written this, I've changed the tags. I'll add the note to all chapters but from chapter 5 on there is mention of the death of a child so please don't read if this will affect you x

He hadn’t gone up there with any purpose that night. He’d slept fitfully, woken in the early hours and known he wouldn’t sleep again. He felt restless, his skin too tight, clothes too coarse, and the room too small; he needed space and views and to know he wasn’t trapped any more. He’d left quietly and driven for hours before ending up at the hill. 

He hadn’t seen her at first, had surprised himself that his usual vigilance had lapsed, but she’d been so still that his eyes had passed over her. It wasn’t until she’d lifted her arm to drink that he’d realised she was there. He could sense the misery rolling off her, the way she let the rain pour down her face and neck, the slump of her shoulders. For a moment he wanted to walk away, to leave her to her thoughts, and to avoid the need to get involved, but he couldn’t. Too much fellow feeling here, he recognised the sorrow in her stance, so he stood and watched, just until she made her way home.

He’d edged closer, wanting to check there was no threat here, but she’d remained oblivious. His skills, plus the dark and the rain, hid him well but he suspected he could have walked in front of her and she’d not have noticed. He understood that, when the world inside your own head was more vivid than the one you lived in. It was lucky he was close though, when her drunken stagger turned into one step, then two. He called out and regretted it instantly as her surprise caused her to slip. He lurched forward and grabbed, metal arm strength heaving her slight body easily back to safety. Now he was involved.

And this was how he’d ended up with her clinging to his jacket, on the back of his bike, while he hoped she’d stay awake long enough to direct him. He’d always had a kind heart, looking out for the weak, the sad, the broken. That had been lost for seventy long years and now he had it back, his instinctive protectiveness was wrapped in a layer of guilt, an urge to balance the books and find some peace.

It had been a long time since he’d been this physically close to someone. Her weight pressed his wet clothes uncomfortably against his skin, the cold and damp unpleasant, but the grasp of her arms – carefully holding only his pockets, and not him – and the weight of her head against his back was a long-forgotten sensation. It wasn’t right though, that she had so little care that she would get on a bike with a stranger, and he was glad he was the one to have seen her.

He felt a tug on his side, and she leant up to speak directions as close to his ear as se could. He turned his head slightly, to hear better, and smelt the alcohol on her breath. Sour and sad, she smelt as if she’d been drinking long and alone.

Eventually they pulled up on a quiet suburban street and he steered the bike to a nearby streetlamp. It was too early for people to be setting off for work yet, but there were lights on in buildings and the suggestion of the day starting. He turned the key and the bike’s noise stopped, the slow drip of the end of the storm blowing itself out the only noise.

She sat up, let go, climbed off unsteadily. Under the pool of light her face was shadowed by her hair until she looked up at him, brushing hair back impatiently where it clung to her cheeks. She was older than he’d first thought, not a teenager but around the age he looked - old enough to drink, and to have reasons to do so. 

‘Thanks, for this.’ He could sense how awkward she found this as she spoke. How to thank a stranger for preventing your fall, driving you home, seeing you so vulnerable? 

‘It’s no problem. I was up anyway, wanted to ride,’ he spoke quickly, took pity on her. His voice sounded too loud, hers was soft and flattened by tiredness. ‘You gonna be OK, getting in? You need to dry off, get some rest. Have some water. Some food if you can.’

She surprised both of them by smiling at his Mother Hen act, dipping her head as if to hide it once she realised he’d seen, not wanting to laugh at his care. It made him smile too, broke the odd tension of the night.

He held out his right hand. ‘Bucky.’ She reached out, her grip surprisingly firm as they shook hands and she introduced herself, then she withdrew. As their eyes met, she quickly spoke – just ‘sorry’ – then turned and climbed the steps, letting herself into the nearest building.

He sat back on the bike for a moment, not quite ready to leave yet. After a minute, a light came on in a first-floor window and a shape appeared. He raised one hand and saw the shadow’s head dip before the curtains were drawn. He drew in a breath and drove home. 

-

Up in her apartment, it hit her how wet, and cold, and tired she was. She switched on the light and glanced around, seeing the usual mess, past caring. The curtains were open, and she felt the urge to shut out the world again, walking past discarded bottles, plates and clothes to the window. She glanced down, and saw he was still there, on his bike, waiting to check she was inside. He gave a slight salute and she nodded, pulling the curtains but watching him pull away through the gap. She was too tired and alcohol-sodden to think about the turn of events right now. She tugged off wet clothes, discarding them on the floor as she walked to her bedroom, then sitting on the bed to peel off the jeans that had stuck to her skin. She sat for a moment more, then climbed under the covers, wrapping them around herself, and feeling into a deep, dream-free sleep.

-

Both slept well into the next day. By the time he arrived home and had showered, washing off mud and the cold of rain, it was breakfast time, but for the first time in a while Bucky felt at ease. A little human contact, the sense of helping someone, the feeling that he wasn’t alone in feeling alone, had anchored him. He smiled as he drifted off, that someone else’s obvious unhappiness should make him feel more content, but he knew it was being there, and out of his own head, that had made a difference.

In her apartment, she slept well into the afternoon, waking to the sound of cars and people outside the window. Her head throbbed, but she was used to that, and her first thought was of a drink. She made her way into the kitchen, eyes half-shut against the light and poured a glass of cold water, standing and staring into her living room as she drank. She lifted her hand to push her hair back and saw mud streaked down her arm, noticed the piles of wet and muddy clothes as memories of the previous evening filtered through the alcohol to her consciousness. She remembered his words, ‘have some water’ and found herself half-smiling down at the glass. It had been a long time since anyone had shown her any care, and she wasn’t sure what she felt.

Bucky slept until lunchtime and woke with a clearer head and better frame of mind than he had for a long time. He stretched, muscles moving under his clothes, then made his way to the window. The streets below glistened with puddles, and leaves still blew past, brought down by the wind, but he didn’t see them. For once, he wasn’t trapped in his own head by his own sorrows, and his mind was elsewhere, across the city.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, as I've written this, I've changed the tags. I'll add the note to all chapters but from chapter 5 on there is mention of the death of a child so please don't read if this will affect you x

Bucky spent the afternoon avoiding thinking about the woman he’d met. He worked out, filed reports, ate meals, kept busy, but it was a slightly frenetic busy-ness, designed to put her out of his mind, but with little success. There was something about her that had resonated with him, it felt as if he was seeing himself, as others saw him. Since Steve had found him, and he’d come back to New York, he’d been a mess of anxieties and worthlessness. He’d seen it reflected in Steve’s eyes often enough, as he tried to draw him out of himself, suggested therapists, tried to share old memories, but nothing had worked. He’d never felt worthy of saving, felt guilty if he allowed himself to enjoy comfort or happiness. Every moment he allowed himself to relax or start to feel happy, was a moment that all the people he’d killed would never experience, and so he shut them away. He wrapped himself in a hard shell, one that went through the motions of life, while inside there was nothing but emptiness and unhappiness. 

It wasn’t until he’d seen that same shell wrapped around someone else that he started to understand, to see Steve’s sorrow and frustration. She had shown the same signs; the lack of interest in life, the inability to settle or to allow herself peace, the drinking. There was a flatness to her speech and her eyes that he knew from himself, as if seeing and talking were more effort than it was humanly possible to make. He saw this, and he wanted to change it for her. Not for himself, he felt justified in his own unhappiness, but no-one was as bad, as undeserving as him, so he felt a pull, to save her. And perhaps, inside, there was a spark – if he could save her, could he save himself?

By the evening, he had stalled as long as he could. He wanted to go and check on her, see that she’d got through the day OK, that she could face life one day at a time. He knew it could look odd turning up at her door but nonetheless he couldn’t resist. He took out the bike, glad the rain had passed over and allowing himself for a moment to enjoy the warm sun on his back as he rode, before shutting himself down for daring to feel contentment. On the way he stopped off at a takeaway, bought some Chinese food, remembering how often Steve would nag him to eat, reminding him that even a super-soldier couldn’t survive without eating. It was often too much effort, but he knew Steve was right.

He parked the bike on her street and walked to the door then paused. What would she think? He started to doubt himself. He was just some stranger she’d met and now he was turning up at her door – and him, a war criminal, a murderer. Not someone you’d really want to know your address surely. He felt his hand clench, gripping the bag. What had he been thinking? Then, head down, he turned and started walking back to his bike.

‘Bucky?’

The voice cracked a little, as if unused to speaking loudly. He turned back and saw no one nearby, then looked up. She was leaning out of her window, had seen him. He froze with indecision, then she spoke again.

‘I’m sorry, I thought… you were coming here, stupid of me…’ He saw her face colour as she moved to pull the window closed and the movement freed him.

‘No, I was, I was coming to see you!’ He started forward, walking back to the door as he saw her eyes widen slightly with disbelief. He stood at the door, feeling embarrassed and awkward, and saw her shadow coming down the stairs inside. She pulled it open and there was a moment where both stared at each other, too uncomfortable to speak. He started first.

‘I just wanted to see how you were, I brought you some food, it was a stupid idea, I’m sorry.’ The voice in his head taunted him, of course it was stupid, of course she didn’t want you there. He clenched his jaw, then reached out a hand and put the bag on the top step and turned away.

‘Thank you. You didn’t have to, it’s… that’s kind of you. D’you want to come in? I mean, if you don’t, you’ve got places to be I guess, and my apartment’s a giant mess, but if you do?’ He turned back, expecting to see a polite face, hoping that he’d say no, he had to be off. But her eyes showed something different. A spark of hope, that he might offer some company. She chewed her lip for a second, and he nodded, then just for a moment, a smile crossed her face, matched by one on his.

She led the way upstairs then outside her apartment door paused. ‘It really is a mess, I just haven’t really had the time, well, the energy, I’m sorry.’

She swung the door open and flushed slightly as he walked in, then scurried past him and tried to gather and straighten. There were dirty plates stacked up on a coffee table, empty bottles beside the couch, take-out cartons and a pile of unopened post in front of the TV. It felt uncared for, and he could see the lack of care reflected in her body, worn down and tired.

‘It’s fine. Mine would be the same except my… roommate… has a cleaner.’ It was true, but hard to explain what it was like living in the lap of luxury, without a care, in the Avengers Tower. She smiled at his kindness and gestured to the couch.

It was awkward, there was no denying it. Neither was used to making small talk and they were two strangers, but they both seemed to recognise that in the other and forgive it, lessening the pressure to behave differently. They shared out the food and she was surprised to find she was hungry and didn’t want to reach for the bottle instead as she usually would at night, to block out the emptiness. It had been a long time since someone had brought her food and it made her eyes smart with unshed tears that it was a stranger who had done so. For the first few months after it happened, her friends had all said ‘you must tell us what we can do, let us know how we can help’ but she didn’t have the words to ask for help, and the offers trailed off. To be offered help without having to ask was something she hadn’t known she needed.

He only stayed an hour or so, by which point both were tired by the unexpected socialisation. For Bucky though, he felt a spark of hope that he hadn’t for a long time, that he could still do good in the world. He liked to see her face change, even momentarily, when she smiled, and wanted to show her that it was only someone like him who didn’t deserve that. He didn’t realise she had been watching his face do the same.

He left, both unsure if they should shake hands or peck cheeks, and settling for awkward nods and thanks on both sides. She shut the door and looked around her apartment, seeing it for the first time. The TV had a film of grey dust over it, the floor was speckled with crumbs, the windows smeared. She knew the rest of the apartment was much the same but the thought of making an effort was too much. This was what she deserved as well, for being alive, for surviving. She sat for a moment. The smile that had crossed her face was wiped off now and she felt a guilty anguish that she had let it appear. Her shoulders slumped and her eyes closed as she reached down for a bottle, and drank to get through another night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, as I've written this, I've changed the tags. I'll add the note to all chapters but from chapter 5 on there is mention of the death of a child so please don't read if this will affect you x

Drinking at night was the only way she could get any sleep, or any peace from her memories. If she drank enough, she didn’t sleep but passed out, and didn’t dream, and anything was better than dreaming. Tonight was different though. She’d eaten, so her stomach wasn’t empty, and she’d started drinking later, had less in the house. Whatever the reason, when she eventually dragged herself to bed that night, she slept. Deeply at first, her body crashed into the depths of unconsciousness, but then the light from the undrawn curtains started to reach through her mind and she began to stir, and she began to dream.

Every dream seemed to be the same this past two years, or perhaps she only ever remembered this one. She saw it when her eyes were open too. She saw them getting into the car, the sun glinting on her son’s curls as he turned his head to wave at her. Her husband standing up from strapping their son in, smiling as he climbed into the driver’s seat. She saw herself waving them off, then the truck coming down the road. There was no sound in the dream, no grinding of metal, cracking glass, just the sound of birds and people walking by without stopping.

It hadn’t happened like that of course. It had been dark, and they’d been away from home, and she’d been in the car, asleep in the front seat. And there had been noise, violent tearing noise and then silence and her voice calling frantically but with no response. And there wouldn’t be any response now. 

She woke herself up calling now, sat up in bed shivering, the covers thrown off, and looking around blearily as she reoriented herself. Her head throbbed with alcohol and unshed tears and she could hear the echo of her own voice in her ears. Unable to stay still any longer she ran into the bathroom, slamming the door, stripping off her clothes as if they were hurting her, and then standing under the shower, the water icy-cold at first then turning hot, leaving her skin red and smarting. Her breath was coming a little too fast, and her hands were balled into fists. She rested her forehead against the tiles and closed her eyes.

She stood under the shower for a long time, climbing out carefully, her fingers wrinkled and soft as she dried her eyes on a towel, then wiped steam from the mirror. She looked tired and old, her skin looked unhealthy and her eyes were sunken and dull. She turned away, scrubbing herself dry. 

It was earlier than she usually woke up, and the day stretched ahead of her, empty time to fill. It had been a long time since friends stopped coming around, they’d long run out of things to say and didn’t know how to reach her, had been scared off by her grief. She was glad in some ways when they stopped coming, stopped bringing meals she couldn’t face eating, encouraging her to get out, to move forward. She didn’t want to, it felt a betrayal of her loss, and she had no one any more to challenge her thoughts as they swirled around her head. 

Drinking less had forestalled her usual hangover, which kept her from wanting to eat or move. Now she was awake, in the day, and her body was asking for food. She opened the fridge, nose wrinkling at the sour smell from something long past its date and sighed. Grabbing up her bag and keys, she left the flat.

Not every day was a bad day, although it was hard to remember that when she was in it. Sometimes she clung on to the bad days because to have a better one made the guilt too bad. This month was always the worst though, the anniversary. Last year, the first, had been unbearable, but there had been people around then who kept her going. Now she wondered if she was the only person who was even aware of the date. It had passed now, had been two weeks ago, but she was finding it hard to pull her broken pieces back together

Outside she squinted against the sun, scrabbling in her bag for sunglasses, her headache making itself felt. Hidden behind the dark glass, she kept her head down as she walked to the supermarket, shutting her ears to the sound of cars and passers-by. She barely glanced up as she crossed a road, not hearing the car horn blaring at her. It wasn’t a conscious decision to be unsafe, just a lack of the ability to care any more about her life.

Wandering the supermarket, killing time, she picked up bread, cheese, a newspaper, more alcohol. She let her eyes skim past sweets and toys, didn’t let herself see his favourite foods. She stood in line to pay, shoving her purchases into bags and started to walk out. She heard a child behind her call for its mother, and pushed her way out, half running, eyes blinded by tears.

Back home she dumped the bags on the floor and reached in for the bottle but couldn’t find it. She emptied the contents on the kitchen counter, but it wasn’t there. Her mind flashed back to the shop, and leaving in a hurry, remembering the voice of the assistant behind her. She’d left the bottle behind. 

The thought of going back was too much, although the thought of facing the day sober was almost worse. She banged open cupboards in the hope of finding something to numb the pain, but there was nothing left. Head aching, she sighed, poured herself a glass of water and drank it down, then thirstily refilled it and drank more. It had been many days since she’d been fully sober, and her body was grateful for the respite. 

Aware of her gnawing hunger again, she ate standing up, tearing off lumps of bread and washing them down with water. She cut off a lump of cheese, ate an apple as she wandered back into the living room. As she left the kitchen, she caught her foot on something and heard a glassy clink as it moved. Looking down she saw an empty bottle spinning slightly on the floor. She looked at it for a moment then picked it up as if unsure why it was there. Looking at the room properly for the first time, she saw how squalid it looked. The remains of yesterday’s take out were congealing on top of a pile of plates from days before, and the air smelt stale and unclean. She had never lived like this before; her house had been full of sunshine and order but since moving here it was too much. With a sudden burst of energy, unburdened for a change by alcohol and hunger, she gathered plates into the dishwasher, threw empty bottles and rubbish into a bag and flung open the window. After half an hour, her energy had gone but the room at least was better. She took another apple from the pile of shopping on the counter and picked up the newspaper, letting her now shaky legs rest on the couch. Flicking through the paper, for want of anything better to distract herself, her eye was caught by an image. Bucky.

Attentive now, she read through the story. She’d paid little attention to the news the past two years, none of it seeming to matter in the face of her personal tragedy. Stories had filtered through, of Steve Rogers, the Avengers, Stark. The Battle had occurred before her loss, and she’d travelled past areas devastated by it, but she lived far enough on the edge of the city she’d been unaffected personally and since then she’d shut most of the world out. Nonetheless she’d heard of the Winter Soldier, and what he’d done, what he’d suffered, but that he’d been here, in her apartment was a shock. She re-read the article, an opinion piece about his rehabilitation. The author seemed in favour but there were dissenting voices from those who called him a murderer. She blinked a few times, trying to reconcile the facts with the gentle way he’d helped her, his awkward shyness. She knew who she agreed with.

Reconnecting with something outside her brain was a relief. She lived so much inside her head and was trapped by her own sadness, so to focus on something else allowed a lightening of grief for a moment. Her mind stayed wandering on thoughts of the soldier as she wandered the apartment. She stripped the bed and ate a little more, threw a collection of unsorted laundry into the machine, tidied a little more, nibbling on food and starting to regain her lost self. 

It was an hour later that she heard her doorbell buzz. She stared around at her cleaner apartment, as if lost for a moment, now that the real world had intruded. She hadn’t had a drink all day and the world seemed overly bright. The bell buzzed again and without answering, she clicked the door release button, assuming it was a neighbour with a lost key. A moment later though, there was a knock at the apartment door. She pulled it open. Bucky. Sergeant Barnes, The Winter Soldier? She didn’t know. He smiled at her a little tentatively.

‘Sorry, this is weird, I just wanted to see how you were doing today.’ He was holding a foil-wrapped parcel in his left hand – his metal hand. ‘I brought lasagne. I didn’t make it, so it’s probably good.’ He gave another smile, and she realised that she had been silent a little too long as the smile faltered. She nodded, smiled, stepped back a little and let him in, taking the dish from him.

‘It’s kind of you, thank you, I’ll put it in the kitchen.’ She stepped through the door into the kitchen, reminded of the food that friends and colleagues had brought after the accident, the counters in the old house covered in dishes and plates. Stepping back into the living room, she opened her mouth to offer coffee, then saw he was staring down at the newspaper, folded back on the coffee table to the article about him. His eyes closed for a moment and his mouth twisted up in a mockery of a smile.

‘Do you want me to leave?’ he asked, quietly.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really sorry. Two chapters in one day - quantity, not quality, obviously. I don’t edit, I just splurge. But I’m avoiding a lot of responsible adult stuff, so you get this. Sorry. 
> 
> Please note tag warnings x

When he’d seen the newspaper, Bucky’s heart had sunk. He knew most of the country – most of the world – knew who he was, but she’d seemed so oblivious that he’d let himself pretend that it didn’t matter what he’d done. Then this article came, out of the blue, and he’d felt exposed and conspicuous again. He’d borrowed a car, driven over, sure that at every stop sign and traffic light people were staring and pointing, whispering about the killer on the street. He hadn’t read the article, wouldn’t have believed it even if he had, that there were people on his side. He’d fallen back into the dark hole in his mind and had looked for escape here, with this stranger, and now even that was gone.

‘What, no, I don’t want you to leave!’ She sounded confused as she spoke, brow creasing. ‘Because of that?’ She gestured at the paper. ‘I didn’t know that article was in there when I bought it, but I agree with the writer.’

He didn’t respond. His shoulders were slumped, and his eyes cast down. 

‘Have you read it?’ He shook his head and she sighed. ‘She’s on your side. Says you’re a victim, that your survival is a sign of strength, and character.’ His head came up slightly as she continued. ‘OK, there are some dicks in there who don’t agree but ignore them. I’m on your side.’

She’d never seen hope, or fear, so clear before on someone’s face before. Like an animal that’s been beaten, and then offered a treat, Bucky’s eyes came up, and his face lightened, but she could see that he’d trusted and been hurt before, couldn’t bring himself to believe, because he didn’t forgive himself. She knew that feeling, that the world should hate you, because you hated yourself so much.

She was tired suddenly. The last few days had been so different from the last few years. She was used to leaning on an alcoholic crutch which hid her from feeling anything, and now it seemed as if emotions were assailing her from every side. 

‘I don’t want you to leave,’ she repeated, and felt herself smile, an unfamiliar feeling. She saw Bucky’s eyes sparkle with unshed tears and had to turn away.

‘Coffee?’ She reached forward and grabbed the paper, screwing it up, and walked to the kitchen as she heard him agree. Shoving the paper down to the bottom of the bin, she brewed coffee, taking the time to take in some deep breaths and splash cold water on her face. Taking it back to the living room, she found Bucky standing by the window, looking out at the street. He took the mug from her, shaking his head as she offered milk and sugar.

‘I tidied up,’ she said, ‘sorry about the mess before. Not that I thought you’d be back…’ she trailed off.

‘I didn’t mind. And I hope you don’t mind me coming back, I just… wanted to check you were OK.’

She sat down on the couch, took a mouthful of too-hot coffee before answering.

‘I’m not, but I think you know that.’

He left the window and joined her, sitting at the far end of the couch, keeping his distance.

‘Me either, but I think you knew that too.’

They both smiled, and comfortable silence fell for a moment. The voices inside both their heads had stilled and they both knew a moment’s peace. Gradually a conversation started, both keeping their questions light and easy, keeping away from the dark. For both of them though, everything was overlaid with their sadness.

‘So have you always lived here?’ Bucky asked. The apartment felt unlike a home, and as he said it, he already doubted whether this was a dangerous topic, but she answered in an even voice.

‘No, I moved here about a year and a half ago. We used to have a house, out beyond the city so we could have a garden. That’s what I do – did – gardening. Landscape design but mostly I just wanted to grow things. Now I’m here.’ She gestured to the concrete outside the window, and he thought about the way she’d spoken about ‘we’, and wondered who that was, and where they’d gone. ‘And you grew up in Brooklyn, but I guess that’s changed.’ She made an effort to lighten the conversation.

‘Just a little,’ he smiled as he spoke. ‘Seventy years’ll do that. I guess I’ve gone up in the world too, Manhattan now, and hot water every day not just Sundays.’

That made her laugh, the sound startling her; it wasn’t one she’d heard for a long time.

He stayed a little longer, and they talked a little more than the previous night, but he could sense when she started to withdraw, when it all got too much. There was a real hidden pain in her, and he didn’t want to push on it. He stood, and she came to let him out the door.

‘Can I come by tomorrow?’ She nodded. ‘I’ll give you my number, if it’s too much, just text me.’ She scrabbled around in her bag and pulled out her phone, and as she turned it on, he saw the screen, a photo of a small boy, hugging a dog almost as big as he was, sitting on the grass, smiling at the person behind the camera. He didn’t comment, and she added his contact details, sending him a text so he’d have her number. ‘Don’t forget to eat the lasagne,’ he said, turning back, and she nodded, shutting the door behind him.

She did eat, surprising herself by reheating the food, and enjoying it. She let her mind wander and for once it didn’t go down old familiar pathways of guilt and pain, although she knew they were there. Grief was like a wave. She had had good days when the sea was soft and flat, and then suddenly the storm would hit, and grief would rise up, washing over her again, knocking her to her knees until she drowned in it.

She went to bed early, without drinking, shaking slightly. She put it down to tiredness, pretending not to think about how reliant on alcohol she had become recently. She lay in bed as the dark drew in, sliding through pictures on her phone. Her boy, forever young, grinning at her and impossible to reach. She fell asleep with tears on her cheeks, knowing she’d wake calling out for him again.

-

It took all Bucky’s courage to leave the Tower the next morning. If it hadn’t been that he was doing it for someone else, he wouldn’t have dared. He felt vulnerable, a feeling he hated, and was sure he was being judged. He expected to be loathed and feared, as he loathed and feared himself. In the end, he’d asked Steve to come out with him, sure that nobody could attack him with Captain America himself there. They made an odd couple, Steve striding along, chest out, smiling; Bucky with his hands deep in his pockets, hiding under his cap.

‘Nobody’s looking Buck, nobody hates you.’ Steve slung his arm around his friend’s shoulders as he spoke, still finding it a little odd that he was tall enough to do it now. He nodded politely at a woman walking by, flustering her into a blushing confusion.

‘You wouldn’t notice Steve, you only see the good.’

‘Y’know that’s not true Buck, I’ve seen the bad side of the world. This though, this is in your head. You gotta find some hope, Buck.’ It was a familiar conversation, one neither of them ever expected to change. Until now. ‘Remind me again though where we’re going and why?’

‘I wanna buy a plant is all, for a friend.’

Hearing Bucky talk about a friend for the first time in so long, someone other than Steve, made him smile. While Bucky tortured himself for what he’d done, Steve was desperate for him to find some happiness, let himself off the hook. So he’d jumped at the chance to find out what Manhattan had to offer in the way of garden centres, for all that he didn’t understand.

Growing up in the city, neither of them knew the first thing about plants. They bickered slightly as they walked the rows of the nursery, Steve enjoying a conversation that wasn’t filled with guilt and shame. Whoever this friend was seemed to be providing the distraction from his thoughts that Bucky needed. Eventually though they realised they had no idea what they were looking for. Steve had picked up a plant they both thought looked nice, before reading the label that said it could grow up to 12 foot in height.

‘You’d better ask Buck,’ Steve said, pointing at an assistant a short way off. Bucky hunched in on himself again.

‘You do it Stevie, she’s probably read about me in the paper, she’ll probably call the cops if I go up to her.’ Steve sighed, and walked over to the assistant.

‘Excuse me ma’am,’ he started, seeing her eyes widen as she looked up at him. ‘My friend would like some advice on choosing a plant, can you help us?’ He gestured towards Bucky who flushed darkly.

‘No problem sir, now what kind of thing are you after?’ The assistant approached Bucky, while Steve hung back, forcing his friend to interact with someone. Bucky glowered from under his cap, but his old school manners kicked in and he pulled his cap off and spoke politely to the woman. She took his arm, steering him towards another area of the store, while Steve followed behind, grinning to himself.

Half an hour later, they left, Bucky clutching a plant in front of him. His mood had lightened, as Steve had hoped, with the experience of being accepted, and part of the world. He wanted this for his friend so much, after everything he’d been through. Steve dragged him into a coffee shop attached to the store, forcing him to be part of the world a little longer. He knew he’d never get the carefree charming Bucky back, but was convinced there was still hope for a happier life.

‘So, you going to tell me who we’ve been shopping for all morning?’ He asked while they drank coffee, enjoying seeing his friend relax a little, looking at peace.

‘Just a friend. Someone who’s in a bad place. Kinda want to help, y’know.’ He looked up at Steve.

‘Yeah sounds familiar,’ he replied, rolling his eyes, then grinning as he drew a snort and a ‘jerk’ from Bucky. ‘Come on then, let’s get going, you can carry the plant, punk.’

-

That evening, Bucky stood outside her apartment, feeling stupid. Self-doubt had set in. What was he doing here, again, intruding on this woman’s life? And clutching a stupid plant, like that could fix whatever was wrong with her. He felt heavy with indecision and shame, too embarrassed to ring the bell, sure that nobody could want him around. He pulled out his phone, sent a text to Steve:

_This was a stupid idea, why didn’t you stop me?_

_Why was it stupid? What did they say?_

_Nothing, I haven’t gone in. I’m coming home_

_Bucky, I swear on my mother’s grave, you ring that bell or I’ll rip off your other arm and beat you with it_

He knew he’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t at least try. Scowling and tense, he rang the bell, and heard the door release. A few seconds later, he was outside her door. He knocked, ready to be turned away.

When she opened the door, all thoughts of himself were gone. Her eyes were red and swollen, cheeks sore from tears, and strands of her hair stuck to her face. Her eyes looked desperate, as if she was being swept away and searching for something to pull her back. Without a thought, he stepped forward, put an arm around her, awkwardly clutching at the plant with his other arm. She let her head rest on his shoulder and began to weep.


	7. Chapter 7

While Bucky had been plant shopping, she’d been busy too. She hadn’t drunk in two days now and her mind was clear. This meant the grief cut sharper than normal, no blurring to take the edges off the pain, but she could also see for a moment what she’d let herself become. She ate breakfast, at a normal time, and went shopping, averting her eyes from the sight of whiskey and vodka, although she craved the numbness they would bring. She walked through the world with gritted teeth, determined to cope, to survive, just for one day at a time, but felt fragile and raw.

Nonetheless, the thoughts of the kindness of a stranger buoyed her up. It had been a long time since she’d had a conversation, or someone had shown her a friendly thought. Since she’d moved away, she’d lost touch with all her friends… she paused in the street as she thought that, wondering if she’d ever even remembered to tell her friends where she was moving. Perhaps they hadn’t all abandoned her. She’d changed her number, never answered emails, because it was too painful to hear ‘how are you?’ and sense their pity, see their unbroken lives. The loneliness was partly of her making, but she had wanted it, couldn’t watch someone else’s child grow up as hers never would; see husbands kiss their wives as she’d never feel again. She deserved to be alone, for surviving.

But for today, she wanted to get through the day. She found she went an hour without thinking about them and was then hit by a hot stab of guilt in her gut that she had forgotten them, but she hadn’t. The grief was just a little less angry today perhaps, less like an exposed nerve and more like a bruise, hurting when touched but otherwise just marking her. She cried at a little to find that she was recovering. Perhaps the alcohol had hidden it from her, that time was healing her. She wasn’t sure she liked it.

Getting through the day sober was a challenge. She finished cleaning, emptied out the fridge, tidied. She stood and stared at herself in the mirror for a while, and wondered where she’d gone, because she didn’t recognise herself any more. As the day drew on, and the light started to fade, she felt herself stretching thinner and thinner, wished she had bought just one bottle of something to drink, just one to take the edge off, but she couldn’t face going out again in the growing dark.

Her hands shook as she went into the kitchen to get some water, thirsty again, her body enjoying the respite from toxins. She reached for her glass then noticed how smeared it looked, so opened the cupboard to find another. Most were now in the dishwasher, which was running. She pushed her hand to the back of the cupboard and felt it close around something unfamiliar. Pulling it back out, she realised she was clutching one of her son’s plastic cups. It was bright red, and she saw little tooth marks around the edge where he’d chewed it. She put it down fast as if it was hot, then picked it up again, clutching it to her with both hands. Her eyes filled with tears. How could she have thought she was OK, when he wasn’t here? 

She made her way back into the living room, planning to just get out, to get something to drink, to be away, anywhere but here, clutching the cup to herself. The buzzer, next to her ear as she leant against the wall to pull shoes on, sounded loud and irritating and she slammed the release button uncaring, just to make it stop. Then there was a knock and she opened the door to tell whoever it was to go away, but it was Bucky, and she couldn’t hold back the flood any more.

One-handed, Bucky managed to direct them both inside, kicking the door shut behind them with his foot. He managed to put down the bag containing the plant on a shelf, watching it wobble slightly then settle, then led her over to the couch. She hadn’t lifted her head from his shoulder yet, and he could feel shudders wracking her body. He sat down, pulling her down next to him, wrapping his free arm around her to stroke her hair. He didn’t speak, knew there was no point in platitudes and that sometimes just being there was all you could offer. He looked down, noticed she was clutching something to her chest, a child’s cup. He didn’t know her story, but the tragedy wasn’t hard to piece together.

Eventually she cried herself out, the sobs turning into quieter weeping and then into stillness, as she held herself rigid, feeling embarrassed and awkward. For all that he wanted to take away anyone’s pain, there was a part of him that was ashamed to admit how much he’d enjoyed the experience of holding someone again, of being the strong one, not the broken one. He felt her pull away slightly, and his side felt cold and his arms empty.

She sat back, keeping her eyes on her hands as they lay upturned in her lap, turning the little cup around in her fingers. He stood up, pressed a hand on her shoulder, and went into the kitchen. She heard a cupboard open, then the dishwasher; the tap running. Then footsteps walked back through the room towards the door at the back, but she was too tired to wonder where he was going. Some more faint noises, and he came back. She saw a glass of water appear on the table in front of her, then the couch moved as he sat back down beside her.

‘Hey,’ he said, his voice unbearably soft. She looked up, and almost cried again to see his eyes. ‘Can I…?’ He gestured with his hand, holding something, and she couldn’t understand what he was asking, until she felt his metal hand gently hold her chin, and then a warm cloth tenderly wiping the tears and salt from her sore skin. She shuddered and new tears sprang to her eyes at the unexpected kindness, and he dabbed them away.

‘Just making more work for me now,’ he smiled, gingerly, and she let out a small tired laugh, squeezing her eyes closed as the last of the tears fell. He let go of her face, held out the glass to her as she opened her eyes. She transferred the plastic cup into one hand, took the glass and drank down the water, before he took it from her and went to refill it. She felt embarrassed now, to have been so weak.

He brought her more water and she sipped at it, not meeting his eyes. He sat next to her, not touching, but close enough to feel warm, and he started to speak.

‘I brought you a plant. I know you said you liked growing things, thought you might like this. I don’t know the first thing about gardening, had to ask for help in the store. Should have seen me, grown man, and I was afraid to talk to this little old lady about plants! Steve thought it was hilarious, the jerk. Think I’m out of practice of the niceties of life though, I spend too long in my head and expect everyone to see me as this dark, murderous criminal. Most people are too busy just worrying about themselves. Was pretty sure this lady had no clue who I was, she was chatting away about soil conditions and light levels, all I could say was I wanted something green, anyway, she helped me choose this plant, said it’s called a Peace Lily, thought that seemed kinda nice all things considered.’ He could feel her body relaxing as he talked, had wanted to just soothe over things, so she didn’t feel any pressure to open up or to apologise, or to do anything other than breathe for now.

‘Anyway, was just about to go and pay, thanked her for her help, and she put her hand on my arm – my metal one. I had my sleeve down and my glove on, but I guess she knew. Anyway, she looked at me, must have been in her 80s, probably her family owned the store since before she was born. Looked me straight in the eye and said ‘you know Sergeant, my brother was a POW in the war. He came home a different man, but we never thought of him as a bad one. He’d suffered, never did talk about it, not Arthur, but we loved him even so. He let that suffering define him, but we never did. Don’t let yours define you.’ Then she just gave me a little pat, told me not to water the plant too often, and to come back if I needed some advice.’ 

She looked up at him now. Her face was blotchy and swollen, lips red from being bitten. He hadn’t felt so protective for a long time. He gave her a half-smile.

‘So, don’t water the plant too much, and if you need advice on how to make it grow – or it seems, on anything else – ask for Doris.’

He felt a thrill of delight when her face broke into a smile. He stood up, and fetched the plant down, taking the pot out of the bag and handing it to her. She took it, set it down on the coffee table in front of her, turning it, and rubbing the soil between her fingers to check for moisture. She hadn’t had anything to care for, another living thing to nurture, for a long time. A plant, she thought, perhaps she could deal with.

‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice still thick with tears, ‘I’m really sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise, no need at all. That’s what friends are for.’ The words were out of his mouth before he’d realised and they both went quiet for a second. Bucky had never dared to suggest he was someone’s friend – other than Steve’s – for a long time, not imagining anyone would be other than disgusted by him. And it was a long time for her since she’d had anyone that close to her, had let anyone in. She rested her hand on his arm for a second.

‘Then just thank you.’

She stood up after that, carefully set the plastic cup down next to the plant, then bustled around the kitchen making coffee, needing to regain some sense of normality and control after her outburst. She came back into the living room, handed Bucky his mug and sat down, reaching out to run one finger over the tooth marks in the cup again, then she started to talk.

‘This was my son’s, he was four. I used to always tell him not to bite his cups but he’d always do it anyway.’ Her eyes were unfocussed, picturing the past. She took a mouthful of coffee and continued. ‘He was called Max. Never slept as a baby, thought I’d lose my mind if I didn’t get five minutes rest sometimes, always had way too much energy. His Dad was a vet – the animal kind, not the soldier kind - we’d been together couple of years when Max came along. Max had just started school, and so we were fitting in a trip one weekend, taking the dog out for a run on the beach, get away from the city for a bit, eat some ice cream although it wasn’t really warm enough.’

She went quiet, lost in her thoughts and he saw her eyes fill with tears. Unthinking, he reached out and held her hand, reminding her he was there. She squeezed his fingers, took a deep breath in and continued.

‘We had an argument that day. One of those hissed quiet arguments when Max wasn’t in the room, then pretending everything was fine because we’d promised him a day out. He was a loving Dad, he adored Max, he was just a really crap husband. Turned out he was fooling around with someone, threw it in my face in the end, rubbed it in that she was more ‘exciting’ than me. We argued all day, every time Max was running down the beach with the dog, then al smiles when he came back. 

I fell asleep in the car on the way back, we were both seething. I’d said some pretty nasty things too, he was probably distracted. Then a truck, on the other side of the highway… one of its tires blew out, driver couldn’t stop, smashed into the car, the side where they both were.’

She didn’t try to stop the tears now, wiping her eyes and nose on the back of her hand, her chin and lips trembling. She’d never told anyone the whole story.

‘Police said it was an accident, it wasn’t the truck driver’s fault, or the tire company, or the road, or anything. Just one of those things. But if we hadn’t argued, maybe he’d have been less distracted, and could have seen it coming, could have reacted faster or something, you know?’

Now she looked at him. He shook his head.

‘Or maybe he couldn’t. Maybe it was just a horrible accident that nothing and nobody could prevent, and it’s unfair and you have every right to be angry and furious with the world. But no reason to blame yourself for it. Maybe grieving is enough pain, without adding in blame?’

She grimaced, she’d heard it all before, but how could she not feel guilty when she was alive and they weren’t.

‘I need a drink,’ she said instead.

‘It’s not really my place to say so, but I think that’s the last thing you need.’

She looked up at that, angry, and saw his face was apologetic, ready for her to lash out, but suddenly she deflated, all the anger gone.

‘You’re right, I don’t _need _one, but god I _want_ one. I want to get drunk and stop feeling.’__

__‘You think you’ve got it bad? I haven’t been able to get drunk since 1944.’_ _

__He said it with such a straight face that all she could do was stare for a moment, then his face cracked into a sheepish smile and she couldn’t resist. Her emotions bubbled over and where a moment ago she’d shaken with sobs, now her body shook with laughter, verging on hysteria. They were still holding hands._ _


	8. Chapter 8

When you open up and let someone in you make yourself vulnerable, and sometimes that can be terrifying. Like having an open wound, the urge to wrap yourself up in bandages, to protect your shattered self, can be great. And when the wound is in your heart or soul, it is even harder to keep it open to the world. 

After she had told her story, and cried, and been cared for, she became desperate for him to leave. It was too raw, too grief-laden, too shameful. She couldn’t meet his eyes, couldn’t respond any more. She was exhausted too. He saw that, the way her eyelids were bruised with tears and tiredness, the drop in her shoulders and the slow drag of her voice. 

‘I should get going, let you rest. Thank you for telling me about your family. I’m honoured you did’

Her eyes did meet his at that, touched by his words. Everyone else had seemed to back away when she talked about them, had glossed over her pain with clichés about time and memory. He hadn’t, he’d accepted all her words, and she knew he’d accept more, if she could find them.

But for now, she needed to be alone. She had shared their memories, now she needed to hoard them to herself again.

‘Can I come by tomorrow? You can text if it’s not convenient.’ She nodded, eyes unfocussed, and didn’t see the need in his eyes. He wanted to be there, for her and for him. To be needed, to help, to feel good in the world, was something he craved. She couldn’t see it. 

He left, and she was soon in bed, the last thing she saw was the photo on her phone, and the red cup by her bed.

The next day, she woke from a restless sleep to a bright day. Her head ached with crying, but she stayed firm, drank water, took painkillers, tried not to think about the relief alcohol would provide. She moved the Peace Lily to her bedroom, placing it on the deep windowsill where it would catch the morning sun – and where she would see it before she slept and when she woke. The sun glinted off the green leaves as she watered it carefully.

Around lunchtime, her phone chime

_Would you like me to bring some dinner for you? Bucky_

A part of her heart longed to say yes, for the company and the solace and the lighter mood, but she had become so weighed down by guilt as she had gone through the day, that she had allowed herself to be comforted, as if her loss and guilt could be wiped away as easily as tears, that she couldn’t.

_I’m sorry, I can’t._

She imagined the text on its way from her small apartment to his glossy suite in the Tower, was sure that he would see it as a relief, a get-out from the burden of her pitiful life. She was wrong.

In the Tower, Bucky had spent the day thinking of food he could take, of how he could perhaps entice her out of her apartment to walk in the park in the sunshine, how he would ask her about the plants that grew there and tell her about what it had been like in his youth. Steve hadn’t seen him smile this much for a long time, and silently blessed this new friend, about whom he knew nothing but a name, and an interest in plants. Then her text came through, and reality came crashing down. Of course she didn’t want him there. He was a stranger who had barged into her life, unwelcome, unwanted, and now needed to step back. She would be glad, no doubt, if she didn’t see him again. He was wrong.

Pain and sorrow lock you inside your own head, unable to see beyond your suffering. The world you create behind your own guilt and shame becomes more real than the one you walk through, and so it was for both of them. Trapped by their own unhappiness, neither could imagine there were other reasons for the other’s behaviour, and so they both suffered alone.

Steve noticed the change in Bucky instantly. His smile gone, his face low, he sat and stared into the dark without seeing it. Steve questioned him, and was rebuffed, and tried again.

‘I was an idiot Steve. She knew who I was, of course she’s not going to want me around. What was I thinking, buying her presents and going round there, like some kind of creep, like a stalker or a serial killer, which is what I am.’

‘Buck, it might not be you,’ Steve tried offering another view, hating to see the change in his friend. ‘She’s grieving, she needs time, maybe it’s just too much, try again in a few days.’

For three days, there was silence between them, a silence that grew into something much bigger in each of their minds. For her, she saw it as confirmation that he had only been being kind; that like everyone else she knew, he’d run from her anguish; perhaps that he’d seen her guilt and was disgusted by it. For him, he saw it as a rejection; another person who hated him as much as he hated himself; that she’d seen his guilt and was disgusted by it.

On the fourth day, Steve called Bucky into the Control Room at the Tower. There were others already there, the mood serious and thoughtful. Bucky sat in a chair, slowly turning it with his foot from side to side as Steve spoke. There was a mission, nothing too unusual but there were rumours of a new weapon, that needed to be checked out. A Hydra base, located in the mountains in the north of Alaska; they would be leaving immediately.

Glad of a chance to act, to get out of his head for a while, Bucky was up and ready, not paying attention to the full details of the briefing. His misery turned to anger, white-hot and irrational. He wanted to lash out at Hydra, who had made him this unwanted man.

On the jet, Bucky was impatient. Even at the Quinjet’s top speed it would be a journey of many hours and he fidgeted with unease, needing to release his pent-up feelings through movement. He paced the confined space, making the others on board uneasy, but couldn’t sit for more than a minute. He checked his phone too often, and there was never anything new. As the flight drew on, eventually his energy died down and he sat, staring out. The land below was empty of people, thousands of miles of forest, broken by rivers. They were too high to make out details, so all he could do was to watch as the green gave way to the white of snow, the further north they went.

The wind began to buffet the plane, and Barton took it off autopilot, easing the plane to their destination. They were closer now, the plane cloaked to prevent detection but nonetheless they would need to travel some distance after leaving the plane. Barton brought the jet as close as he dared while the rest of the group put on masks, goggles and snow gear. Stark’s designs at least meant the clothes were lighter-weight than the usual cold-weather clothes, but they were still bulky and would need to be shed as soon as they could.

Outside the wind was fierce, and they all staggered a moment before finding their balance, leaning into the wind. Once into the shelter of the forest, there was a little protection but even for their highly trained bodies, the cold and the altitude was hard-going. 

Half an hour’s walk brought them in sight of the base entrance. Hydra had dug into the mountain, a heavy door looking incongruous in the stony slope. There were no patrols outside, the weather acting as a defence, but they knew there would be surveillance. A brief conversation, and then one of Barton’s arrows took out the electrical wiring on the camera. With any luck they would think it was a glitch, and not realise they were under attack. There was a pause, and then they began. Stark used his suit to attack the door, which gave under the onslaught, and the rest of the team quickly threw off their outer layers, ready to rush the building.

The fight was simple. The base was not well-staffed and was mostly populated by tactical officers and not fighters. They knew that the data the base held was important, but nobody had expected a physical attack in such an isolated location. The system was set up to prevent cyber-attacks, but once Romanoff was on location, she and Stark were easily able to break through the firewalls and find the information they needed.

All was simple, until it wasn’t. Most of the soldiers and scientists were now being held in one room, watched over by some of the Iron Legion. The injured or dead would be seen to once the rest of the base was clear. Steve and Bucky were working through to the very depths of the base, checking each room, looking out for people or weapons. Stark was watching their progress via display, identifying anything they might need to bring back for testing. It was all going too well. Bucky’s mind wandered now the threat was diminishing. He saw himself, reflected in the dark steel of a door, his face shadowed, a gun in his hands. Was this all he was? A weapon in the dark, a killer to be feared. No wonder he couldn’t offer goodness to anyone who needed it. To her.

He had separated from Steve, taking a different path through the building, when he reached what seemed to be a final room. The door was shut, and in his absent-minded, tired state, he didn’t see it properly. As his hand moved the handle downwards, his eyes saw the wires, and at the same time, heard Steve call out a warning behind him. ‘Buck, no!’

But the door was rigged. Here was the weapon they were looking for, but it was too late now. The blast ripped the door off its hinges, flinging him across the room, and sending Steve flying across the corridor into the far wall. There was a moment’s silence, the ringing in his ears covering up the noise of falling debris, but then another explosion sounded. This was deeper underground, and he felt it through his body as he stumbled to right himself. The ground shook, and then split. Steve appeared in the doorway, holding himself upright on the frame as the world seemed to tilt, and then before he could react, the ground gave way beneath him. Inside the mountain, once again, Bucky fell, and was swallowed by the dark.


	9. Chapter 9

Steve flung himself forward, in a horrible mirror of seventy years before, but he was too late. By the time he reached the edge of the fissure, there was nothing to see. The grinding sound of the earth gradually settled down but still Steve didn’t move. He lay on the shattered floor, not caring as broken concrete dug into his body and dust settled out of the air onto his tear-streaked face. For years, he had suffered the same nightmares, watching Bucky fall and unable to reach him, and now it had happened again.

Finally, eventually, the chatter in his comm-link seeped through his desolation.

Cap, Barnes, come in? Anyone got eyes on Cap or Barnes? Where were they last seen? That explosion’s blown out too many sensors, we’re rebooting but we’re in the dark here. Cap? Cap?

I’m here. I… Bucky’s gone.

He pulled himself up slowly to a sitting position. His heart was pounding, and his hands were trembling. He rested his head on his knees and wept. 

Stark found him. Sensors finally re-aligned after being blown out by the explosion, he made his way through the broken base. The building was quiet, cold and dark, all power out. Small fires gradually died out on the cold rock, their red glow making the dark even eerier. 

Stark’s helmet opened. 

‘Cap, what the hell happened?’

Steve lifted his head. His eyes were red, and there were blood streaks and bruises on his face. He looked human and broken.

‘The door was rigged. It blew when Bucky opened it, set another one off. He fell Tony… He fell, I lost him, I couldn’t…’ His voice thickened and cracked, and he broke off, swallowing hard. 

‘My suit’s at 5%, I can’t go down there right now. We’ll look Steve, we’ll find him. We’ll try…’

Steve’s head dropped to his knees again and he shut the world out as Tony took control. More people arrived. He felt hands on his shoulders, offering comfort; heard conversations flying above his head. None of it made sense to him. Bucky had fallen, and he was gone, where Steve couldn’t follow.

He felt the heat from Stark’s repulsors as two of the suits took off and flew down into the chasm, saw with unseeing eyes the light bouncing off rocks in the dark. He was chilled through from sitting on the floor, but he would stay there forever, better than leaving Bucky again.

The suits flew back. He heard talk, movement. Something fell into the dark and the echo rang back loudly in the room. The suits flew down again, and he heard the whine and scrape as the armour dragged parts of the mountain around, deep inside.

‘Cap? Cap…’

The voice finally cut through his wretchedness. He looked up. Romanoff was kneeling beside him. He focussed on her. There was a dim glow from one of Stark’s suits, but the hole in the ground seemed to suck the light into its depths. He tried to nod, to be strong, to show her he was there. She rested her hand on his shoulder.

‘Steve. Did you hear? They found him. They’re bringing him up now.’

He stood, his body feeling its age for the first time. He leant on the wall and watched his breath misting in the chill air. He heard the suit fly up before he saw it, then the rocks glowed red with reflected light, then it appeared. Bucky’s body was draped over the suit’s arms. His right arm was flung over the suit’s shoulder, his left hung limp and unmoving, the metal crushed and scraped. His trousers were torn and the red light made the blood glow too brightly. There was bone visible. Bucky’s face was turned away from Steve, and he was glad that he could hold off from seeing it for a moment longer.

The Legion suit landed heavily, and Steve waited for it to set the body down, knowing he would have to step forward, and that it would then become real. It didn’t stop though, walking forward, through the cleared route to the back of the room, and on through the base. He couldn’t stop it. He’d wanted to see, here, so then it would be over, and he could just sit there with Bucky until he died too, but to find the energy to follow him out of the base seemed impossible.

‘Hey, stop!’ he called, his voice filled with dust.

‘Steve, there’s no time, we’ve got to get him to the jet,’ Romanoff spoke gently, as if to a child who wouldn’t understand. ‘It’s touch and go, he needs stabilising fast.’

He looked at her, uncomprehending for a moment.

‘He’s not dead? But the fall…’

‘He’s not dead Steve. He’s not doing great, but he’s not dead. You thought…?’ She rested her hand on his arm, her face full of sympathy. ‘No, he’s not dead. I guess it’s always going to take more than a fall for that one.’

His face trembled as he began to laugh and cry, taking in a deep breath as the world lightened, then he made for the exit and the jet.

-

She had tried, on the fifth day, to contact him. It had taken her all day to summon the courage to press send on the simple message:

Hope you’re OK

When he didn’t respond, she started drinking again, to wipe out the hope she had felt for a while. The only care she took was of her plant, the one concrete symbol that there had been someone in her life, someone who even just for a moment, cared. The plant flourished. She did not.

She had changed her shopping habits, so nobody could notice how often she was buying alcohol. A little variety to the day, breaking up the drinking and sleeping. She wandered to a new shop, stood in the queue with a large bottle of vodka, and let her eye run over the newspaper headlines: ‘Explosion destroys Alaskan mountain.’ She didn’t care.

Then, two days later, the vodka gone, another shopping expedition, another store. She was waiting outside as soon as they opened in the morning. Papers, newly delivered, were stacked by the stand. Another headline: ‘Is This the End of the Line for the Winter Soldier?’. Two pictures of his face, one from the 1940s, the other with longer hair, the smile replaced with hateful blankness. Her breath caught in her chest and she grabbed at the paper, stood by the stand reading, trying to focus on the words.

Word from Avengers HQ is that the infamous Winter Soldier, also known as Captain America’s oldest and best friend, James Buchanan Barnes, is on the brink of death. The mystery explosion which toppled an Alaskan mountain earlier this week has been revealed as a bomb planted by Hydra, the Nazi organisation Captain Rogers and his team are working to end. Barnes was caught up in the explosion which ripped apart the mountain, his fall into a crevasse causing massive injuries. The solder is now seen as a victim of torture and the world’s longest serving POW, and was being rehabilitated and living with Captain America in New York’s Avengers Tower. The Avengers have said, via a spokesperson, that Barnes’ injuries are severe and life-threatening, despite the serum which has given him his long life and youthful looks. Our thought and prayers are with the Captain and his friend. For more on Barnes’ life, see page 21. For an alternate view on the world’s deadliest assassin, see…

She let the paper drop back to the stand and stood for a moment, finding it hard to breath. Then she carefully placed her basket of shopping on the ground, and walked out of the store, overwhelmed. Outside, the panic overcame over. Her fists clenched and each breath came faster, whistling through her lungs. Her eyes filled with tears and she knew only that she had to move, to keep moving, that as long as she moved, he would be OK. She started walking, towards the Avengers Tower she could see on the skyline and tried not to think.

It took her hours. The sun was bright overhead by the time she reached the Tower. There were press vans parked outside, the reporters waiting for any sign of movement like vultures. There were tourists too, posing for pictures beside the giant ‘A’ symbol, and bunches of flowers tied to the railings. Her heart lifted a little at that, that there were other people who could see the good in him and wished him well. She pushed her way through a crowd on a tour, heading for the large reception desk, out of breath and out of focus. 

‘Bucky, is he…? I’m a friend, can I see…’ Her words slowed. She realised how she must look. Hair uncombed, clothes none-too-clean, the scent of alcohol on her breath. The guard was well-trained and polite, didn’t recoil or laugh, but she could only imagine how she must seem.

‘I’m sorry ma’am, all the team appreciate everyone’s good wishes but I’m afraid there are no visitors allowed.’

‘Of course, it was stupid… I shouldn’t have…’ she backed away as she spoke, her face flushing into sudden heat. Pushing through the doors again, she felt ashamed and humiliated, stood for a moment pretending not to cry, refusing to turn and see if the guard was watching her.

A cab, caught in traffic, caught her eye. She held up a hand and moved forward, opening the door and curling into the far corner of the seat as she gave her address. The cab moved off, slow in the lunchtime traffic in this busy area. She scrubbed her eyes with her hands and stared out of the window, barely seeing the city move by.

‘Hey, stop, can you pull over?’

The driver grunted with mild annoyance, signalled and swerved through the traffic to the blaring of horns. She pulled out some money and passed it over, barely checking the amount. Her eyes were drawn to the sight in front of her.

Tucked under the railway tracks, behind a shaped metal fence, there was greenery spilling over into the city. A train rumbled overhead, and the noise broke through her reverie, setting her moving forward into the site and the building beyond. She pushed through the gate and found herself in an urban jungle. Water fountains trickled in one corner behind bamboo screens while terracotta pots stacked high matched the rusting paint on the rail tracks above. This was the kind of place she would once have spent hours wandering through, letting her fingers trail through leaves, breathing in the wet scent of freshly watered earth and the heady scent of flowers. Now she only wanted one thing, and had to shut her mind to the life growing prolifically around her.

Bypassing shelves stacked with seeds and pots, weaving her way through the store, she read the signs hanging from the ceiling until she found the row she wanted. Glossy green leaves massed in front of her, plants competing for space and sunlight on the crowded shelves. She walked slowly down the aisle, one hand running along the rough wooden edge, the scratching helping to anchor her and hold down the panic. Finding what she was looking for, she picked up and then rejected two pots before finding the best specimen, tall and healthy looking. She wrapped her arms around the plastic pot, clutching it to herself as before she had clutched the child’s cup, and made her way back to the front of the store to pay. 

Holding the plant carefully, she was about to leave the store when she noticed her reflection in the glass doors. She was wide-eyed with exhaustion and tangled with fear. She turned back, found an assistant to speak to.

‘I’m sorry to bother you, is there a restroom here I can use?’

The woman turned to her with a friendly smile and took in her appearance and the plant clutched to her chest. She rested a hand on her arm gently as if she was a frightened animal.

‘Right this way through the coffee shop, I’ll walk you there.’ She kept up a quiet stream of chatter, not seeming to mind the lack of response as they walked through the store. ‘Just through here. Would you like me to hold your plant for you? Peace lily is it, lovely choice. I’ll be right here waiting.’

She went in, saw herself fully in the mirror now, no hiding. Resting her hands on a basin she stared at herself, refusing to back down or look away. This was what she had become. Hands trembling, she turned on the tap, used paper towels to scrub her face, then dug into her bag for a comb. Tidier, she just looked sad now. Her face had gained new deep lines of sorrow since last she had really seen herself, and she was surprised at how much her loss showed.

Back out in the store, the woman was waiting for her. She thanked her, took the plant back, her shoulders perhaps a little straighter now, and left. 

The Tower was not too far away, she hadn’t come far in the taxi. Before she reached it, she stopped, rummaged in her bag again for a pen. Folding back the paper bag to the height of the pot, she wrote a message on the bag. Inelegant, but she had to try.

At the Tower, the security guard had been replaced as the shifts changed. She straightened her back, plastered on a smile, walked forward as if she had the right to be there.

‘Hello, I’m sorry to bother you, I have a delivery here for Sergeant Barnes, from a close friend.’ She held the plant out, leaving the guard little choice but to take it. ‘Please see the plant gets to him quickly, and isn’t left sitting on a shelf. It’ll need watering, of course.’

She’d done all she could now. She knew she wouldn’t get to see Bucky, and that was right. She wasn’t anything to him, in reality they barely knew each other, and yet she felt broken that somewhere in this building, he was lying, injured, and not knowing she cared. She looked up to the guard again, to say goodbye, needing to get out now, get back to the oblivion that alcohol could give her. He wasn’t looking at her but was staring over her shoulder. Frowning with confusion, she turned to look. Blue eyes rimmed with red, above dark circles showing the signs of exhaustion and fear she knew from her own face. 

‘I’m sorry ma’am, I heard you mention plants. Was that… a peace lily?’


	10. Chapter 10

With a bemused expression, she looked at him. In amongst all her fears, the last thing she’d expected was a botanical question.

‘Um, yes… why?’

She recognised him now. It was only her tiredness that had prevented her before. Her tiredness, and his. He didn’t look like the Captain America she’d seen on the screen and in photos, glowing with health and righteousness. He looked like a scared, lost man, afraid for his oldest friend.

‘I’m sorry ma’am, it probably sounds like an odd question, I know. I just wondered if there was any reason you’d chosen that plant…’

She felt her face heat up. It had been a spur of the moment thing. She’d wanted to give him something, that would let him know it was her, even though she was sure he wouldn’t care – was sure in fact that he’d never see it. She looked down at the floor as she spoke.

‘It’s just silly… he gave me one, a few weeks ago, I…’

‘I thought so!’ Her eyes shot up at the interruption. ‘When I saw you come in with that plant… I’ve been hoping I could find you, but I didn’t know anything about you except that you like plants. Actually, didn’t even know if you were a man or a woman.’ His face was lightened and she couldn’t help responding, smiling at the enthusiasm even as she felt lost by his words.

‘I don’t understand, I’m sorry. You were looking for me?’

He held her elbow gently, drew her aside a little way, aware of eyes upon them as people picked up on his intensity. Despite being a familiar figure in the city, Captain America was always a draw, and right now he didn’t want to be distracted by autographs or photos. He led her over to an elevator, pressed a button, and guided her in. Slightly alarmed, not having expected this, she pulled back and he became aware of her resistance as he held her arm. Now his face flushed, and he stammered out an apology.

‘I’m sorry ma’am, I’m not making sense and I’m not explaining myself. If you’re willing to come upstairs, we can go somewhere quieter and talk.’

She nodded, allowed herself to be drawn into the elevator. She wasn’t afraid of this man, but she was afraid that she would let him down. He had that effect on people. She wanted to be a better person for him. Looking down she realised how crumpled and shabby her clothes were, became aware that her hair was unwashed, and her eyes alcohol-bleary. The walls of the elevator suddenly felt too close, and the large presence beside her only seemed to fill the space further. Her chest felt tight, and she instinctively drew back into the corner, trying to pretend she was fine. 

Steve felt her move and looked down at her. He didn’t see her as she saw herself, grimy and worthless. He saw the damage in her eyes, the careful way she held herself as she tried to breathe without drawing attention to herself. The marks of self-neglect showed on her not as something to be ashamed of, but something to incite compassion and understanding. He’d seen it all in Bucky, the self-hate, the disregard for a body and a being that was undeserving. He could see why she’d made such an impact on Bucky. Perhaps by saving her, Bucky had felt he could be worthy of the same.

The elevator bell rang and the door opened, and he saw how quickly she stepped out, chest heaving as if she’d been suffocating. He consciously didn’t touch her, well aware from his time with Bucky that it could overload an already strained and fragile grasp on the panic. Stepping past her, he opened the door to the nearby room, setting the lights to come on only dimly. 

‘Take a seat, let me get you some water, and I’ll explain.’

He gave her a moment, fetching water from a nearby kitchen, eyeing her through the glass conference room door for a moment after he left. Sitting very upright, her knuckles were white from gripping the arm of the chair. His eyebrows knotted, he’d made a mess of this, his excitement at finding her taking over.

‘Here, have a drink, let me explain,’ he said, walking back into the room and putting the glass down on the table near her. She focussed on the glass, rather than meeting his eyes, watching a drip condense and slowly slide down. Once the drip had reached the table, she picked the glass up, cold and slippery in her hand, and took a sip. She could feel her hand tremble slightly.

‘It was a stupid hope really, but I’ve been hanging around down in reception in the hope that somehow I might spot you. Stupid, I didn’t even know who you were, but when I saw the plant…’ He stopped again, and she looked up now, breathing a little calmer, and met his eyes.

‘I am not making any sense am I?’ He rubbed his eyes, ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I haven’t slept in a while, if I’m honest. Let me try again.’ He smiled and although his eyes stayed sad, she responded. Then he held out a hand, and she reached out and shook it.

‘I’m Steve Rogers, nice to meet you ma’am.’

Now they both smiled more widely, and she calmed a little more as she gave him her name. 

‘Please don’t call me ma’am, you’re younger than I… well, you’re not, but…’ She would have blushed, berated herself for her stupidity, but he threw his head back now and laughed, and she could see the release was good for him. She grinned and felt her whole body relax.

‘Now, I hope I’m not wrong, but are you the person Bucky bought a plant for, coupla weeks ago?’

‘I am. He bought me a Peace Lily. He said you made him go and talk to an assistant in the shop when he didn’t want to. I think he called you a jerk for it.’ He laughed again and she enjoyed the fact she could bring him some happiness for a moment.

‘Yeah, that’s you then. He wouldn’t tell me anything about you, just that you were a friend, but he was a different person when he talked about you. Wasn’t so… inside his head, if you know what I mean?’

She nodded. Of course she knew, it was how she felt when she thought about Bucky. And then she thought about how she’d left him, blocking him out, and she felt a stab in her stomach, that she’d let him down.

‘I- I cut him off. I’m sorry. I thought he probably had better things to do than bother with me.’ Always close to tears these days it seemed, her eyes filled up again and she coughed, turned away, rather than have him notice. It didn’t work.

‘I know. He’d told me you’d lost someone, and I figured you were just needing some time alone.’

She noticed the careful way he said ‘ _I_ ’. Not he.

‘You thought that… did he?’

Now his head dropped a moment and when he looked up again his face was twisted into a wry, sad smile.

‘No. Sorry. He thought it was him. You thought it was you. Guess you’ve both got your demons.’ He sat up a little straighter, pulled his shoulders back again, as if to regain control.

‘Anyway, like I was saying. When the news got out, about Bucky, I guess I hoped you’d see it, that you might come. Been hanging around the lobby like somehow you might announce yourself, was close to giving up when I saw those green leaves come bobbing in, and there you were.’ He opened his hands as if he’d somehow pulled off a magic trick and made her appear, but then they closed convulsively into fists again and his voice quietened. ‘You did hear… what happened?’

‘I saw the paper this morning,’ she said. ‘I came here, but got turned away, I must have looked like a crazy person, really. But then I was going to go home, and give up, but I saw this plant store, and just… wanted Bucky to know I’d been here. Can he? I mean, is he… how is he?’

His hands unclenched and he paused, then tapping once on his knee, he stood up and reached out a hand, as if he had come to a decision.

‘Come on, I’ll show you.’

He led her back to the elevator and she felt her stomach sink as it seemed to rise higher and higher. Her palms were sweaty and her fingers twitched, not now with claustrophobia but with anxiety about what she was going to see. 

‘Captain Rogers, I barely know him, I have to be honest. If he’s hurt, he doesn’t need to be bothered with strangers.’

He looked at her, and she could see why people had followed him so willingly into battle. His gaze was firm and steady, and utterly, heartbreakingly, trustworthy. This man could no more lie than he could be at peace.

‘You might not know him well, but you made a difference to his life in a short time. I could see it in how far up he came, and how far down he went. Now that’s not to make you feel guilty, because I’d rather have him able to feel happy some of the time than none. But it’s to show you, you’ve got every right to come see him. And I reckon he’d be glad.’

As the elevator doors opened, she felt a large warm hand in the small of her back, steadying her. She stepped out into a brightly lit corridor. Her head ached in the glare and she tried to remember when she’d last had a drink and when the hangover would be hitting. She hadn’t eaten in a while and her body felt hollow with tiredness, hunger and unease. He propelled her forward and she couldn’t find the words to explain that she needed to leave, that this was wrong. The corridor seemed to stretch out too far ahead of her, and their footsteps echoed on the hard floor. She bit the inside of her cheek, let the sharp pain bring her back into her body as blood filled her mouth. She couldn’t faint, couldn’t let go. 

He stopped outside a door. He could feel the tension radiating off her, could see her hands grasped into fists and imagined the way the nails would be digging into her palms, holding onto calm through sheer force of will. He admired it, even while he pitied the need for it. His hand moved up to her shoulder, and the weight of it was somehow comforting.

He opened the door. The room was quiet and dim after the corridor, and it took her eyes a moment to adjust. She let her eyes wander the room, skirting over the bed in the centre for now. Curtains were drawn across a window, filtering a soft light into the room. Shelves around the edge held medical equipment, carefully arranged and ordered. There were chairs, unoccupied but out of alignment suggesting there had been people sitting here and keeping company. And then in the centre was a bed, and Bucky was in it. He was lying too still, too carefully arranged, to be asleep. His arms were bare, laid over the blanket, so she could see the metal arm now fully, and the harsh scarring at the top. Her stomach knotted at the marks of pain he had to carry. She hadn’t realised that she’d walked closer until her hand touched the soft blanket that lay over his legs. He had sensors on his chest, attached to machines that beeped and flashed quietly behind him. Tubes and wires ran in and out of his body, too many to surely suggest his body could do much for itself. 

She turned back to the Captain. He had stayed in the doorway, leaning against it, waiting for her to take it all in. For him, this was a familiar sight. He had sat in one of those chairs for many hours now, patiently waiting, impatiently hoping, terrified that if he left he would miss something, then flinging himself out in a flurry of anxious movement to pace the lobby and watch for someone he didn’t even know.

‘How bad is it?’

‘It’s bad.’


	11. Chapter 11

Multiple broken bones and contusions. Massive internal injuries. Blood loss. Some organ damage. Coma. Non-responsive. As the Captain listed his injuries, she swallowed hard, fingers tightening on the bag holding the plant until she felt it start to tear under her grip. She remembered sitting by hospital beds, hearing these words, for other people. Squeezing her eyes shut, she concentrated on breathing, on remembering this was _now_ , not _then_. But it was still, almost, too much.

He had slumped down in one of the chairs near the bed, one leg stretched out, shoulders low. He wasn’t looking at her, didn’t see the tension in her face.

‘Without the serum, there’s no way he’d have survived the fall. Even with it… I don’t know, it’s going slower than it should. Maybe it’s too much, maybe the serum’s too old now. Nobody knows. All we can do is wait.’

He paused and looked up at her. His eyes were in shadow in the dim light and his voice was full of pain. 

‘I’m just staying here, you know, talking to him, for nothing probably but it’s all I’ve got. Docs have stabilised him, and he’s got the best care Tony’s money can buy, but it’s down to him now.’ A breath in. ‘Honestly, I don’t even know if he’d want us to save him, if we can. Not after the life he’s had.’

He looked back over at the bed, almost as if he’d forgotten her. She was still standing, and realised she was clutching at the plant. She felt stupid; he was in a coma, he’d probably never wake up, and here she was, a stranger bringing a plant as if anything she did could possibly matter. She needed to leave, to be away from the smells and sounds of a body held one step away from dying. She stepped forward, looking around, and then reached to put the plant down on the counter at the side. Her hands were trembling, and the bag slipped, then ripped as the weight of the plant inside shifted. The pot hit the side with a bang which seemed over-loud in the quiet room. Steve turned towards her.

‘Sorry, I slipped, I’ll just- I’ll leave this, I’ll…’ she stumbled over her words under his puzzled gaze. ‘Thank you, for telling me how he is. I hope he’s OK.’ Ducking her head as she righted the plant, she turned away.

‘You’re going? Please don’t.’ His voice was quiet and tired, and when she turned back, she could see the tension in his face. ‘He’d….’ He stopped and drew in a breath. ‘OK, he won’t know right now, but I could really use the company. At the moment everyone else is busy - on clean up in Alaska, or dealing with crises, or managing data, and just… busy. And all I can do is sit here and stare at him or stand in the lobby looking for you. Can you stay, just for a bit? I mean, if you’ve got something on, sorry, of course, it’s fine…’

If he’d asked her to stay for Bucky, she would have left. Would have thought Bucky wouldn’t want her there, that she was intruding, that they were just being polite. But a plea for company, from him, was harder to say no to. Just an hour, she could manage that. She remembered how time seemed to stretch out forever, when you were sitting alone, that she would cling on to conversations with nurses and doctors, anything other than listening to the loud silence from the bed.

She sat, rigid, on the chair. Her hands twisted in her lap convulsively, the only sign of movement. Steve watched her for a moment, regretting asking, making someone stay when she looked so afraid. She saw the pity in his eyes, and suddenly found herself speaking.

‘I’m not great with hospitals. I’m sorry. My son… my son and my husband… we had a crash, I spent a lot of time in hospitals, it’s just…too familiar.’ She continued to stare at Bucky, not wanting to see Steve’s face once the words were out. She felt a warm hand, on top of hers and looked down at her lap. His hand was big enough to wrap over both of hers, stilling the movement. He didn’t speak, and for that she was glad. There weren’t any words that would make things better, but somehow his silence, and a touch, eased her a little. She drew in a shaky breath, let it out, and felt her muscles start to relax.

After a while, he did start to talk. She doubted this was for her benefit, suspected that he was running things over and over in his head, trying to find a better outcome. He told her about the base, the door, the bomb. He told her about the desperate flight back, pushing the jet to its limits while they tried with limited equipment to stabilise him. She could hear the tension in his voice as he relived those hours.

‘There was blood all over the floor. Fast as we could pump it in it seemed to be coming out. His heart stopped once, had to shock him, get it started. All I remember is Nat cursing in Russian, all the time, under her breath, they had to do it all, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t do anything. I’d let him fall once, and now I’d seen it again. It was only because Tony’s equipped the jets with these cradle things that he’s here, I don’t even know what they do, but they got him in one and it just held him stable long enough to get here. I did _nothing_. What good am I to anything, I let him fall again, and I couldn’t even save him. Again.’

His hand was gripping hers tightly now, his tension and anguish coming through in every muscle. Someone else’s pain, however sad, was almost a welcome relief from her own. It gave her a focus, something to work on that wasn’t her own mind.

‘But you did. You’ve saved him. You found him, before, didn’t you?’ She eased one of his hands out from under his and used it to rub the skin on his hand gently, soft circular movements with her thumb. It was an unconscious movement. She’d done this to Max when he had nightmares as a child, had stroked his hand until he’d quieted and slept. ‘You’ve been there for him when the world wanted him locked up. I saw you, when they wanted to put him on trial. You looked like you’d have burned the world rather than let him be punished.’

She’d forgotten about that until now. It had been during one of those lost years, staring drunkenly at the TV, letting the images flicker in front of her eyes, not caring what she watched. The footage of the Captain defending his friend, had stood out even through the drink. Her hand stilled for a moment, then the circling started again, but she felt the tension leaving his body.

‘I would have. He’s a _good_ man, always has been. Even he forgets that sometimes. I won’t.’

‘Nor will I.’ Her voice was quiet enough he almost doubted she’d spoken.

They sat, occasionally making quiet conversation, for most of the afternoon. He told her little bits about their youth, when Bucky would be the one sitting by his sickbed. She found herself talking a little about Max, his childhood illnesses, and somehow it didn’t hurt as much as she expected, to remember him. There was no change in the man in the bed. The monitors marked off his heartbeats and breathing, breaking up the time into meaningless pulses. Light through the drawn curtains had long since dimmed before she realised how long she’d been there. It wasn’t until a nurse came in, to change an IV bag, carry out some assessments, that either of them stirred.

‘Jeez, I’ve kept you here a long time, have I held you up?’

She smiled at the idea that she might ever have somewhere to be.

‘No, nowhere. I’m grateful to you for letting me stay.’ She looked around, blinking now she realised how dark the room was getting, fumbling for her bag and coat.

‘Will you come and have dinner here, with the team? I’d like you to stay, it’s the least I can do too, for your company. It’s made today a lot easier.’

The idea that her presence was somehow positive was a surprise, and she found herself agreeing. As they left the nurse preparing to clean him and check and rebandage his wounds, she realised how hungry she had become. Meals were usually haphazard, food grabbed unheeding, taken at odd times, and now her stomach felt hollow. They re-entered the elevator and she became conscious of her well-worn clothes and unwashed hair again, anxious about the impression she would give to these unknown people. She wasn’t used to company any more and tried to remember the last time she’d been in a large group of people, eating and talking. The only memory that came up was the funeral, dark-clad people quietly muttering to one another as she sat and cried.

When the door opened, she was glad of the break from her thoughts, for a moment. There was noise, and there were too many people, and the smell of food, all overwhelming her. A couple of faces turned their way as they entered a nearby room and she cringed at the stares, but there were just smiles and calls of ‘Hey Cap’ and ‘any change?’, and then she was sitting down, and being passed a plate, takeout boxes shoved towards them along the table.

‘This is Bucky’s friend,’ Steve introduced her, and then more eyes did turn her way. She felt her face flush under the weight of their gazes, sure they were judging her and finding her wanting. _This_ , surely couldn’t be a friend to one of them? She looked up and caught a smile or two though, and remembered when she had enjoyed this sort of thing. Sitting around and talking, and being part of the world. It felt alien now, but she had once been a part of a life like this.

‘Wait, you mean Bucky’s friend with the plant that you’ve been going on about? We were starting to doubt you were even real! Pleasure to meet you.’ A hand was held out of in front of her and she shook it, realising only belatedly that it belonged to Tony Stark. Something in her brain clicked into gear and she looked around the table again, at the people sitting near here, talking to each other, making jokes, checking in with Steve on Bucky’s progress, passing her more food and checking if she needed a drink. Steve’s ‘team’ of course. Avengers. She swallowed hard, the food suddenly dry in her mouth, and reached for some water. Across the table, she became aware of Steve’s eyes on her, checking she was OK. She nodded slightly, surprising herself. The room was warm, and the conversation didn’t seem so loud and jarring any more. The food filled her stomach. She was in the world. Just for now, not for ever, but she was OK.


	12. Chapter 12

She woke the next morning and lay in bed watching the sunlight shine on the green leaves of Bucky’s plant. She felt odd and was unsure why. Stretching an arm out for her phone to check the time, she smiled at the photo of Max as the screen lit up and ran her thumb over his face. Then she realised what was different today. Her sheets were lying smoothly over her, no thrashing around in the night had disarranged them; and she had woken peacefully, after a restful sleep. She allowed herself a moment to think about this, to let the familiar guilt wash over her, that she had forgotten, but its teeth were a little less sharp today. She rose, showered, and dressed, finding a wizened apple and some crackers for breakfast, then gathered her things, to be ready for the Captain.

He arrived on the dot of 10, pulling up smoothly outside her building. She’d been watching from the window, her mind wandering back to seeing Bucky driving off on his bike after bringing her home. It felt odd that it had only been a few weeks, but life had changed so much in that time. Changed so much because someone had cared, and she’d let someone in. 

Her mind was drawn back to the present by the sight of Steve climbing out of the car. She opened the window and gestured that she’d be down, then picked up her coat and bag, heading downstairs. It was a crisp day. The sky was a soft blue overhead but there was little warmth in the sun that shone down brightly. Steve was dressed in just a shirt and was rubbing his hands together for warmth when she opened her door. He smiled at her, opened the car door with a flourish, shut it behind her and then walked around to the driver’s seat.

‘How’s Bucky this morning?’ She flushed, ‘I mean. Hi. Sorry. Thank you for collecting me.’

‘Hi to you too, and you’re welcome. And he’s doing good today.’ He flashed her a quick look before turning his eyes back to the road. ‘Progress. Seems like the serum’s kicking in. Nothing I could see, I have to admit, but the docs are pleased. Say his blood pressure’s better, heart’s better… heck, I don’t really know. But they used the word better a lot.’ 

She could see the difference in him today. Yesterday he had looked lost and fearful, today there was more light in him. She felt it in herself too. She felt looser, as if the fear and sorrow she’d kept inside for so long were relaxing. She’d opened up – she’d talked about Max, and the accident, more in the last few weeks than she had in years, and somehow the act of sharing was releasing the burden on her. The weight, lifted off her mind, made her feel slightly raw. Lights were bright, sounds crystal-clear. Her skin felt itchy where clothes rubbed against it, but she welcomed the sensations after so many months of dull nothingness.

At the Tower, Steve whisked them past the press and security, who barely gave her a second glance while she was with him. The elevator ride was less terrifying than before, and Steve’s large body no longer seemed to fill the space and consume the air. It was just Steve. Her mind though, was focussed on what was waiting at the end of the ride.

The curtains had been drawn back today, and the bright light highlighted the bruises and shadows on his skin. There was little visible change for all the talk of ‘better’. He still lay unnaturally still and his breathing was too regular. He seemed thinner already, and his skin was too pale. She focussed on the medical news though – for all she couldn’t see it, he was making progress.

Steve gestured her to a chair, then with a muttered ‘back in a minute’, left her alone in the room. She sat for a moment, then pulled the chair closer to the bed, the sound over-loud in the quiet room. Almost surprised at her daring, she reached out and picked up his hand. It lay limply in hers, but she could feel the reassuring warmth of life in him. She rubbed his hand slightly, as she’d rubbed Steve’s the day before, as she had with Max.

‘Hi. So, it’s me. I came to visit you. Your friends seem nice. They seem to care, want you to get better. That’s good. I hope it helps you.’ She drew in a breath and smiled at her own fears. ‘I miss you. That’s stupid, right? But you’ve made a difference to me. I hope I can tell you that properly soon.’

Standing quietly in the doorway, unnoticed, Steve watched and heard. He liked this woman. For all her personal tragedies, she was uncomplicated and separate from the dark work that he, and the team, had to do. Bucky needed that in his life. He coughed slightly and noticed she drew back and took her hand away as he walked in. He passed over a mug of coffee he’d brought her, and she took it gratefully.

‘Was just checking in with the docs after this morning’s tests. All still looking good. They want to take him off some of the equipment in a bit, said he doesn’t need it. Gonna scan his brain activity too, they say. We’ll get out of their hair in a bit.’ He was leaning against the foot of the bed as he spoke, holding his own mug. He sipped it, resting his free hand on Bucky’s ankle. ‘If we’d had all this tech when we were kids I’d have been a whole lot healthier then.’

‘But then you wouldn’t be here now, to look after him,’ she said, and he nodded. He tried not to think in ‘what if’s but the thought that he could have had a different life, perhaps one with a wife and children, was painful. He smiled. He was here, and he had Bucky, and friends. That was plenty.

They drank their coffee, both caught up in their own thoughts, then some medical staff came in, started preparing him to be scanned, taking out equipment, bustling and busy in the small room. Steve stood and gestured her back through the door.

‘C’mon. Let’s get out of the way. Can I show you our garden? I know Bucky wanted you to see it.’

The guilt, that she’d cut Bucky off, hurt for a moment. If he didn’t wake up, she wouldn’t have a chance to apologise or explain, he’d never know that it was her own fears that stopped her.

‘Actually, can I wait somewhere else? I’d like to see it with Bucky,’ she said, and he liked the hope that gave him.

Up in the living area, they were soon joined by a couple of the other members of the team. Each checked in with the Captain on Bucky’s progress, and from their conversations it was clear that they were all dropping by his room regularly. Knowing that there were people who cared affected her more than she expected. She felt almost tearful, and knew that it was these people who would help him recover, not just from this fall, but from everything that had happened. She also felt bereft. She’d cut herself off so thoroughly that she had no one who could be there for her, and it was only now she was in company that she realised how lonely she had been. She also started to doubt why she was there. He had friends – long-term friends – who he worked with, relaxed with, people who knew him. What was she doing here? 

Overwhelmed, she was trying to find a polite way to leave, when something beeped, and a voice came out of nowhere.

Captain Rogers, you’re requested on the medical floor.

He stood, calling ‘Thanks Jarvis’ to the invisible voice, and then held his hand out to her. ‘Come on. I could do with the support.’

It was true. He needed someone he could break down on, if it came to that, if the news was bad. For his team, he had to remain strong – or felt he did – but he wasn’t her leader, didn’t need to be the lynchpin for her. He liked her too. Their quiet conversations had shown her to be thoughtful, generous, warm. Someone like this was what Bucky needed; what they all needed.

‘Are you sure? I don’t really think I belong here, I barely knew him, when you think about it,’ she said, voice quiet and slightly ashamed.

‘He liked you. No, scratch that. He likes you. Good enough for me.’ He tucked her arm through his and led her down to Bucky’s room.

‘Thanks for coming Captain, ma’am,’ the doctor spoke as soon as they entered. ‘Just wanted to update you, thought you’d want to know. It’s all good news. We’re seeing a lot more brain activity, very focussed, coherent. He’s started responding to painful stimuli as well. Great signs. His consciousness is returning, sure the serum is helping there, so please, keep up whatever you’re doing.’ He smiled at them, and they both realised they were smiling already. ‘Gentle stimulation will help get through – talk, music, touch, smells – you know him best, what he’ll enjoy.’

The doctor turned to leave, adding ‘I see no reason, with the progress so far, that he won’t recover fully. It’ll take time, but no reason at all it won’t happen.’ He bustled out, shutting the door behind him. She turned to look back at Steve and was startled to see tears running down his face, despite the beaming smile. He stepped towards her, and pulled her into a hug, more for his own comfort than hers, letting out a huge breath that ruffled her hair.

‘Shit. Sorry, ma’am. I’ve been holding it together but it’s so good to know he’s on the mend. I just couldn’t… not again.’ He stepped back, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands over his eyes. She remembered trying to hold it together, for other people, and how much it hurt to hold it all inside, emotions straining to come out until you felt bloated with the pain. She rested her hand on his arm for a second, then carefully put her arms around him, slow enough he could resist if he wanted, and held him as he cried.

They spent that day, and the next, filling Bucky’s room with reminders of the life he was missing. Stark set up a playlist of ‘40s music that played softly through hidden speakers all day. Barton walked in with an armful of scented flowers, and a pot of fresh coffee, and the room no longer smelt clinical and antiseptic, but alive. People dropped in and conversation hummed, and she was surprised to find herself part of them. For every conversation about missions and jets that made her feel distant, there were more personal conversations, often aimed at the silent figure on the bed, about meals and friends and happy moments, that she felt welcomed in to. 

In the evening, there were also darker topics, away from Bucky’s hearing. As Bucky retreated from death, they all felt able to open up about their own losses, to Steve and to each other. She suspected they rarely spoke of their own tragedies but somehow knowing one was being averted gave them the space to share their pain. There were names she didn’t know: Pietro, Riley, Yinsen; and there were missing parents and homes. Steve drove her home, tired but comforted at the end of the first day in silence, filled with the thoughts they’d all shared. 

He opened her car door, and gently kissed her cheek as they arranged to meet the following day. ‘It’s good to have you there, it does the team good I reckon. And don’t forget, we’ve all had our losses. Your grief will be understood.’

That was why, on the second day, she found herself opening up. She had told Bucky, once, briefly; and Steve knew the edges of her story; but she found herself sharing her losses as they all had, and somehow it was OK. These hurt people all knew the right things to say, and the right times not to speak at all. She showed them Max’s picture on her phone, and found herself sharing the happy stories, that summed him up, and not just his ending.

She slept well when Steve dropped her home again, sober again.


	13. Chapter 13

It was an odd routine, to wake up and spend the day with virtual strangers, sitting by the hospital bed of a man she barely knew, but it became normal relatively soon. The group seemed to welcome the normality she brought. She could sense the tension they lived with, the constant threat on their lives, and distance they had to hold from day-to-day existence. There were few trips to coffee shops, or supermarkets; no days out or movie trips. They’d made a new normal for themselves, but they were isolated and flung together by happenstance, and she brought something different that none of them had realised they craved. She watched how they lived their lives waiting for a call that might come at any moment, how they pushed their bodies to the limit so as to always be ready for the next encounter. Saddened, she felt for them, and felt humbled, as if her suffering was perhaps not as serious. She stopped talking about Max, tried to put her efforts into listening to them, as if somehow her grief wasn’t justified. Two deaths compared to all they’d been through, and she’d been broken for years. She didn’t deserve understanding or kindness. She hadn’t yet found a way to be with herself. She was all or nothing with her grief.

She had been at the Tower every day for over a week now. She had little else in her life to take up her time. There always seemed to be food, enough to include her; and she was always made to feel welcome and included. It was a baptism of fire, to be introduced to so many people, so fast, but they seemed to relish it. In their lines of work, you had to judge people quickly and decide if they were in or out. She’d been judged as OK, and now she was one of them. It seemed it was rare for new people to be allowed in, so she was something of a novelty still, and she cringed a little away from the attention. Nonetheless, her heart warmed at being included and part of the world again. 

And in his own time, a little at a time, a day at a time, Bucky returned to the world, crawling out of the dark pit of unconsciousness he’d fallen into. Barton was the first to notice Bucky open his eyes. It was late at night, and insomnia had got the better of him, so he was sitting by the bed, running a coin over and over through his fingers, talking aloud but with little intent. 

‘So, this friend of yours seems nice. Feels good to have someone around who isn’t all about spying and killing for a change. I think she’d get on with Laura, was going to get her to come up, but I figure maybe meeting the kids would be hard, y’know.’ His eyes flicked up to the man in the bed, without expecting a response, and he noticed his eyes were open, and gazing around the room, but with little focus. 

Barton reached over the pressed the buzzer, moving gently and continuing to talk.

‘Hey buddy, good to see you opening your eyes, been a while. Know Cap’s been missing those steely blues…’ A nurse came in and he gestured. ‘Our friend here’s opened his eyes, I figure that’s a good thing, right?’ The nurse moved forward, shining a light into Bucky’s eyes and watching the pupils react and his face contort into a slight frown. 

‘All good progress, I’ll let the doctor know.’

‘Better tell Cap too, or there’ll be hell to pay.’

His eyes only stayed open for a few moments and were closed again by the time Steve rushed in, barefoot and bleary-eyed wanting to know everything, repeatedly. Barton’s response of ‘well he opened his eyes, then he shut ‘em’ didn’t seem to satisfy him, and he sat down with a heavy sigh.

‘I shoulda been here Clint,’ he said, downcast as he rested his arms on his knees. Clint rested a hand on Steve’s shoulder as he left. 

‘Can’t be here all the time Cap. Give yourself a break.’

Later, once the sun had started to rise, and Steve had dozed off in the chair, Bucky began to move. His fingers twitched and he grabbed at something, nothing, movements spasmodic and meaningless. Disturbed by the slight sound of sheets rustling, Steve’s eyes flickered open and instantly he was sitting forward and gently holding onto Bucky’s hand, resting his other hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

‘Hey, Buck, it’s OK, take your time, take it easy…’ He muttered meaningless sentences until Bucky calmed, and the movements ended.

Over the next few days, Bucky opened his eyes more frequently although they suspected he wasn’t seeing anything. His movements gradually became a little more meaningful, although progress was sporadic and slower than Steve had patience for. It was only watching her calm pleasure in Bucky’s improvements that stopped Steve pacing the room and demanding more from the doctors than they could possibly do.

‘How do you do it?’ He asked, slumping down in the chair, legs stretched out, but hands balled into fists showing his frustration. ‘How do you not want to scream at how long it all takes and all the ‘two steps forward, one step back’?’ 

‘Well, he’s your best friend, and you’ve not had him back long, I guess it’s worse for you. I’m…’ Steve interrupted. ‘…I know, you’re just a stranger. But you’re not, you know. Maybe you didn’t know each other that long, but you had an impact. He was excited, knowing you. Kinda like the old Buck, y’know, when he met some girl.’

She flushed at that, looked down at Bucky, trying to picture the ‘40s charmer Steve had told her about in their long quiet conversations in the hospital room. She’d spent more time with Steve now, than she had with Bucky, but there was something about Bucky that drew her in. He began to move again as she watched, and Steve sat forward and held his friend’s hand.

‘Hey Buck, it’s Steve, you in there? Can you squeeze my hand?’ He’d been trying this for a few days now, without success, but as se watched, she saw Bucky’s hand tighten, knuckles whitening for a moment. ‘Hey bud! Hey, that’s good, that’s real good Bucky!’ Steve’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears as Bucky’s hand loosened and he settled into oblivion again.

Day after day, it seemed, there were changes. There was an air of tension and excitement in the Tower, that she couldn’t put her finger on. It wasn’t until she sat one evening, talking quietly to Clint, that he named the unsettled feeling.

‘We just don’t know, I guess – y’know – which one we’ll get back.’ He saw her look of confusion and gave a wry smile as he elaborated. ‘They say head injuries can change the personality, right? I mean, it’s not guaranteed, but it happens. So… since he’s already got two people in his head, Bucky and the Winter Soldier… which one wakes up first?’ Natasha called him away to help prepare a meal after that, and he left, patting her shoulder sympathetically. Mind racing, she sat back. His past, she’d known about, but it seemed so distant to the man she knew that it was hard to remember they were the same person. Now she felt a flutter of fear in her stomach and wondered what she would do – what they would all do – if the man who woke up was a threat.

The following day, as had become routine now, Steve picked her up in the morning. She would be up, dressed, waiting. Sober and not hungover. Before he arrived, she would have eaten, cleaned, done all the little everyday things that make up a normal life. She hadn’t had a drink for two weeks now, was eating better, looked healthier and more alive than before. She tended to Bucky’s plants – both the one he’d given her, and the one she’d given him – with a care that suggested she felt that if only they would thrive, so would she, and so would he.

As they walked into Bucky’s room, the sound of the door opening seeped through his mind and his eyes opened. 

‘Hey Buck, it’s us, back again,’ Steve said as he walked to the chair. Bucky turned towards him, his eyes tracking Steve’s movements. ‘Hey, bud, yeah, good work, you can see me?’ This was the first time Bucky had shown deliberate actions, and they were both excited and on edge. ‘Hey, it’s good to see you. Seen who’s over there?’ Steve pointed across to where she stood on the other side of the bed. Painfully slowly, Bucky turned his head and looked at her. She could feel him focus, felt as if she was under a spot light as he gazed intently at her, then turned back to Steve. He nodded slightly, and both were sure they saw him smile as he fell asleep. 

Now progress seemed much steadier. Each time he awoke, he was confused, but awareness gradually settled in. He was exhausted, and slept for long hours, but the periods awake grew, although he could still do nothing for himself. 

It was late one afternoon, and they were both sitting by his bed again. Tony had been in and there had been a hum of conversation all day. They all tried to stay quiet, so Bucky’s growing senses wouldn’t be overwhelmed, but inevitably there was noise, and sometimes laughter. It was a long time since she had laughed, and she was grateful for these people who had let her in ad helped her to heal. Now Steve was telling her about a science fair they’d both been to, and what Bucky had been like in uniform, how all the girls had turned their heads to see.

‘Steve.’

Both their heads whipped around to the bed instantly. Bucky’s eyes were open and he was watching them.

‘Steve?’

‘Hey, Buck, yes, it’s me. We’re both here, welcome back pal.’ His eyes moved across and met hers, and as he said her name, she felt her face split into a smile. His eyes went back and forth between the two of them. He knew her. That was enough for now.


	14. Chapter 14

And so now here he was. He woke, gradually, over the next week. Each day saw him awake and aware more. Weak, frustrated, confused but awake. No idea of personality was coming through yet, his body and mind were still too weak. She could feel how watchful they all were, as he regained his strength but not his mind, worrying about who had woken up.

She’d only known him a while, but somehow felt connected to him, especially after hearing so much from his friends, but she did wonder if he would think it was odd she was there. For all that she had become friends with the rest of his team, she was still a stranger to him, and now that he was waking up she felt awkward.

At first, he was merely a consciousness, there was little personality and the moments of recognition weren’t always present. There were times he would wake up and tear at his IV lines, face contorted with anger and fear. She saw Steve’s face at these times, the terror he felt that Bucky had fallen and it was the Winter Soldier who had come back. The doctors reassured him that frustration and confusion were normal symptoms as the brain recovered, but she could sense their fear too, and saw how none of them would turn their back to the figure in the bed, just in case.

Gradually though, the frustration faded as he understood more of what was happening, and as he did, his real self appeared. His memory of the fall was gone, the short-term memory never being fixed after his accident, so he had to be told more than once about the fall, the recovery, the time he would need to allow himself. He was weak but not for long, the serum working on his wasted muscles and broken bones long before his mind had fully recovered, and it wasn’t long before the medical team agreed that he could leave the hospital wing. His mind was not fully restored and sometimes he would struggle for a word, frowning with frustration; at other times he would be wiped out by exhaustion or blinding headaches and need to lie in the dark, tears trickling down his face.

Through all this, she was there, in the background. She had retreated as far as she could, physically and emotionally, but something stopped her going all the way home. As he had shown greater awareness, so his team had come in more often, supporting him and helping him piece himself together again. She let them crowd the bed, would retreat and lean on the wall quietly, wondering what she had to offer, but she couldn’t make herself go.

On the first day Bucky moved back up to the apartment levels in the Tower, she was in his room when the team gathered to help him move out. Steve had insisted on flinging an arm around him, eliciting a growl of ‘I can do just fine’ from Bucky to no avail. Barton and Banner had both come and grabbed handfuls of belongings that had been left in the room, trailing the two men along the corridor to the lift. She paused for a moment in the door of the hospital room. She wondered about her role now. It was reasonable to sit by the bed of someone in hospital, but when that person was in their home, what role could she play now? As the thoughts crossed her mind, she noticed the plant she had bought, abandoned in the room. A pile of medical equipment had been placed in front of it while Buck had his final checks, and now it sat, unneeded and forsaken. She picked it up quickly, hugged it to herself, and felt ashamed of how it made her feel. She would take it home, put it next to her plant, and write this whole thing off.

They had held the elevator for her, she realised. All four men were standing inside it, Steve using one arm to hold the door from closing. There was no way to avoid them, and no way to use a different elevator and make her escape. She stepped in, keeping her eyes down, and heard the doors shut behind her.

‘That plant…you brought it here?’

Bucky had not spoken much to her, so far. He’d remembered her name, and he’d thanked her for drinks and blankets, but she’d kept out of his sight when she could, to avoid the question she thought was sure to come: ‘why are you here?’ She looked up and saw him reach forward, rubbing his fingers into the soil for a moment then stroking one of the leaves. His eyes met hers, and she waited for the axe to fall, but it was Steve who spoke next.

‘This one’s yours Buck. She brought it for you, how I knew who she was, tell ya about when you’re sitting down.’

Steve had noticed her withdrawing and had got to know her well enough to understand it. For all her friendships with the rest of them, it was Bucky she had known first, and it was Bucky, and his pain, that she was drawn to. Someone who struggled with guilt and grief gave her hope for her own struggles. He knew, as did she, that all of them had the same pains, but somehow Bucky had found a way in and she was terrified of losing that.

‘It needs water, I think… but not too often? How in hell do I know that?’ Bucky’s face contorted as he thought, then brightened and they were all treated to one of his rare smiles. ‘Doris. Jeez, I can’t remember an explosion but plant care from an 80-year-old sticks.’ Shaking his head with amusement, he looked at her again and his smile softened ‘You bought this for me? Thank you.’

The elevator doors opened, and she stepped out, moving to one side to let the group of men pass by, and then trailed them into the living quarters. The rest of the team were there waiting, and there were calls of greeting and welcome as Bucky was installed on a couch and Steve fussed around him, offering cushions and blankets, drinks and pain relief, deliberately winding Bucky up until he growled and punched his oldest friend’s shoulder. Steve grinned and pulled him in close for a hug, glad to see some of the old personality shine through.

She had stayed near the back of the room and was watching with a smile as the team reaffirmed their bonds with jokes and laughter and care, now she looked around and moved over to some shelves, putting the plant down carefully, with a wry smile at her own foolishness, then turned to leave. As she neared the door, the sound of laughter and chatter covered the noise of quiet footsteps and she gasped slightly as a hand closed around her arm.

‘You’re going? You can’t stay? We’ll get some food in a bit. I know Bucky will want you here.’ Steve of course, whose vigilance meant that he had seen her leave even as he paid attention to his friends.

‘I’m just really tired, and I’m sure Bucky is too, and he’s OK now, so I don’t really need to be here…’ The excuses reeled off her tongue but there was little truth behind them.

Steve turned her to face him, his hands gentle on her upper arms, thumbs circling on her skin as he ducked his head to look into her eyes. Standing this close to him, she had to look up to meet his gaze.

‘I know you’re worried, about your place here. I get it, I do. But _I_ like you being here, and the team do, and I know Bucky is going to be so glad you’re here once his brain unscrambles a bit more. Just give it time, but don’t back away, OK?’ His kindness, unexpected and unlooked for, brought tears to her eyes, and he pulled her in close her face pressed against his chest, so she could hear his heart beating. ‘You’ve done a lot of good for all of us, but especially him.’ She tried to shake her head in denial, and he let her go slightly. 

‘I’m serious. Before he got hurt, you really brought him back to himself. I can’t thank you enough for that, ever.’ He leant forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead. ‘I’ll drive you home, get yourself some rest anyway, because then you can avoid seeing me arguing with Buck about him needing to go to bed, I reckon it’d be easier to get one of Barton’s babies to sleep than that grown man. But don’t stay away, k?’ She smiled, despite herself, and let him hold the door open for her, and take her out to the car.

Over in the living area, Bucky was sitting on the couch, pretending that he was OK. His head hurt, and the noise and bright lights were too much, but he felt he should be recovered by now, and hated his weakness. A part of him wanted Steve to come and fuss around him like an old woman again, send him off to bed – he’d put up a token resistance, sure, just like Steve used to all those years ago – but he just wanted to lie down now. He looked around for Steve, hoping to catch his eye, and saw them. 

Steve’s thumbs, gently circling the soft skin on her arms as they gazed into each other’s eyes. Steve’s hands, looking so big on her small back as she rested her head on his chest. Steve, softly kissing her head and making her smile, a smile that seemed to exclude everyone else in the room. Steve, tenderly leading her out of the room, without a backward glance. He pushed himself up off the sofa, mumbling ‘need some sleep’ quietly to the group and left.


	15. Chapter 15

He remembered her, of course he did. Seeing her in the hospital room, with Steve, he’d known her straight away. He didn’t know how, or why, but he knew her, and knew that when she was there, the panic and the fear were calmed just as they were by Steve’s presence. It took many days before he could piece together their meetings, and sometimes he forgot and had to remember all over again. It wasn’t a new experience for him, to lose himself, and each time he remembered again.

There was always too much noise, and he was never able to stay awake long enough it seemed, to talk to her. As his memories from before returned, he wanted to apologise, although for what he wasn’t sure. For coming around too often, or perhaps for not turning up enough; for texting, and for going silent; for getting it wrong. He knew something had gone wrong, but he couldn’t get it straight in his head, all he knew was that he wanted to make it right again and wanted to see her smile. But there were always too many people, and his head hurt, and he slept, and the words wouldn’t come, so he just hoped there would be enough time, and that she would still be here to listen when his mind caught up with his heart.

But then he saw how she looked at Steve, and how Steve held her, and he understood now, why she was here, and had been in his hospital room so often with Steve. Now she had fallen and of course it was Steve. He couldn’t even begrudge his friend this happiness. Steve had been alone for so long, and given so much, and now he deserved comfort and care and love. He deserved someone who looked at him like that, after all the good he’d offered the world and all the anger that had been thrown at him in payment. He deserved it, not Bucky. Not the man who had spent most of a century killing, not the man who bore a weapon in place of an arm, a machine built to allow him to better fulfil his duty. Not the man who bore the scars of his suffering in his flesh and his mind and his soul. Steve was the light where Bucky was the shadow, and like all that was good, she was drawn to his brightness, and rejected the dark.

When Steve came back to the Tower that night, after dropping her at home, he was pleased to see Bucky had taken his advice and gone to bed. He spoke to the team for a moment before heading down towards his friend’s apartment. Quietly opening the door, he walked through the darkened space to the bedroom. All the lights were off but there was a little light coming through from outside, where the curtains weren’t closed completely. He could see his friend, curled under the covers, lying still, but sensed he wasn’t asleep. His stillness was a little too rigid, as if he’d heard Steve and was holding himself unmoving.

‘You OK Buck? Need anything?’

‘I’m good Steve. Night.’ Bucky’s voice was thick and slightly cracked, but Steve put it down to being half-asleep as he withdrew, satisfied that all was well for the night.

Bucky lay awake longer than was healthy for his recovery that night. Although his body cried out for sleep, and his head ached with tiredness, his mind was treading back over old familiar pathways of guilt, blame, and hurt. After more than a lifetime’s worth of suffering, he had foolishly allowed himself to hope, and now that his hope had been lost, the fall back into loneliness was all the more painful.

While Bucky lay awake, so did she, just a few miles away. She had thrilled to see Bucky recognise her, and to watch his recovery, and knew that he must be overwhelmed by the care and concern of his team mates, but it left her feeling her outsider status once more, something that she had avoided these last few weeks. Bucky had his team now, his friends, who knew him well. He had no need for her awkward and unfamiliar presence, surely. But after two years of retreating from the world, she had foolishly allowed herself to re-join it, and to spend time in company, to laugh, to connect, and now that she had no right to it any more, the loss was all the more painful.

The next day, both pulled themselves out of bed with little joy at the thought of the day ahead. In her apartment, she dressed and ate with a sense of impending embarrassment. Steve had dropped her off the night before with the promise of collecting her again. His enthusiasm and delight at Bucky’s recovery made her hide her own concerns and so she had feigned happiness, and agreed to visit the Tower again. Standing by the window, watching out for his car, she drew in a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and steeled herself, ready to admit to them all that her time there had drawn to an end. She would thank them for their welcome, she would wish Bucky well and tell him how pleased she was for his recovery, and then she would leave them in peace, without the need to be polite to a stranger. Scrolling through photos of Max on her phone, letting herself fall back into memories of his laugh and his curls and his warm body on her lap, she was horrified to find that she couldn’t remember any more exactly what his voice sounded like. Her stomach knotted with guilt that she was forgetting him, and for the first time in a few weeks, she longed for a drink.

Bucky too was steeling himself, for another day feeling weak and achy, and for a day watching Steve’s happiness and trying not to resent it. He sat up in bed, slowly, tensing himself for pain but relieved to find that the serum was easing his torn muscles and shattered bones quickly, and there was little more than the ache of a poor night’s sleep left in his body now. He swung his legs over, and sat on the side of the bed, the sheet wrapped around him. Rubbing his hand over his face, he shook his head at himself. He didn’t resent Steve’s happiness. Actually, he revelled in it. It was all he’d wanted for Steve, for years, for someone to see the good man, and the idiot, and the artist, and the hero, all wrapped up in one too-small and too-often-ill body. Now the body reflected what society told you a good man needed to look like, and that should have brought them flocking, but Steve wasn’t interested in the women who giggled and rested their hands a little too long on his arms, and fluttered their eyelashes at him. She wouldn’t have done that. She was hard-edged and spiky and held herself away from the world, there was no soft cooing and sighing from her. She was what he deserved and what he needed, and Bucky was thrilled that he would get it. He just wished it wasn’t the one person he wanted. He hadn’t been allowed to want or need for so long, and he definitely didn’t deserve, but she changed him and for all his happiness, it was going to be damn hard to watch. He rubbed his hand over his stubble again, put on his brave face, and wished he could drink.

By the time he’d showered and dressed, and made his way through breakfast, she arrived. Steve had picked her up and his own pleasure at the presence of some positivity in his often dark world masked her quietness. As they walked into the living quarters, her muscles tensed in anticipation of the awkwardness. Bucky looked up at the sound of the door opening, coffee paused half way to his mouth as Steve walked in, heading straight for the kitchen and the coffee machine himself. As he moved out of the way, Bucky saw her and for the first time in a long time, their eyes caught. He felt his skin prickle with goosebumps and his lips curved into a smile, however much he tried not to. He watched her face react too, her eyes softening, and he allowed himself to believe there was a look of happiness in her smile that meant something just for him.

‘You’re up, that’s good, I’m glad – to see you’re doing better…’ She stumbled over her words as she remembered the last time they’d spoken. She’d told him, about the accident, and he’d listened and cared, and then she’d shut him out. She was hit by a hot wash of shame through her body that she could have treated someone so caring, so harshly, and before she could over-think, she stepped forward, and rested her hand on his arm. Even as she spoke, she could feel the metal through his shirt-sleeve, unyielding and cold.

‘Bucky, I’m sorry. That I didn’t – that I didn’t get in touch – I was…’

‘It’s OK, I understood, I’m a stranger, it was weird. You didn’t need me hanging around,’ he interrupted, reaching over to pat her hand where it rested on his arm. ‘Thank you, for keeping Stevie company. He gets in trouble if he’s left on his own.’ 

He gave a small smile, and while her mind was still trying to understand how much he had misinterpreted her withdrawal, he had already stood up, and left the room. Her call of ‘No, Bucky, wait!’ had no effect, and the door quietly shut behind him.

‘Where’d Buck go?’ Steve’s voice from behind her, distracting her. She turned to him, her face frowning. He reached out, passing her a cup of coffee. ‘You OK? What’d he do now? Can we put it down to the bang on his head?’ His smile gradually faded as he saw the tension in her face.

‘I think I messed up, Steve’ she said, and he could hear the sigh in her voice. Taking her arm, he led her over to a couch set up a little way from the others, so they could talk in private.

‘Before his accident, I sent him a text, telling him not to come over,’ she said, and saw Steve nod, realising that of course Bucky would have told his oldest friend all this. Shame washed through her again. ‘I just - I’d told him, a lot. I’d never opened up like that before, and I felt so ashamed of what I’d said, and then he was so damn nice about it, and I felt so guilty, because I don’t deserve that kinda thing, and now he thinks that I just didn’t want him to come around and actually I was just afraid because of how much I _did_ want him there, and…’ Her voice had got higher and faster as she spoke, and now she stopped and gave a wry smile. ‘Jeez, I sound like some kind of teenager, all that _but I said and he said_. Sorry.’

‘It’s OK. I was pretty good at dealing with teenage girls getting tangled up with Buck, back in the day. Not had to do it for a while, but…’ She looked up at him, eyes wide, then saw the smirk on his face. She punched him on the shoulder and smiled, the tension gone from her now.

‘You’re a jerk, Captain America, the world should know that!

He grabbed at her wrist, to stop her punching him again, as she struggled and laughed, suddenly feeling lighter. Steve would make it OK, it seemed to be what he did, and she was glad of his friendship, that had seen Bucky through such hard times, and seemed to be having the same effect on her. She pulled her arm away eventually, and Steve calmed down.

‘I’ll talk to him, OK. He blames himself, for so much, it takes a lot to get him to see that anyone might feel differently. He doesn’t think he’s worth it, not even to me. But give him time, OK?’ He saw the guilt reappear on her face, and pulled her in to a hug. ‘It’s not you, OK, he’s pushed us all away before.’

Bucky stood behind the doorway, watching. He’d wanted to come back, to just be near her again, because he was drawn to her. He liked making her smile, wanted to be strong enough to hold her up when she was falling into her grief, wanted to be the one she told her fears to. Being able to be there for her had meant the world to hi and made him feel as if maybe he could find a place in the world, have some value. But seeing her laughing and playing with Steve, and hugging him, he knew he had to let Steve have his turn at happiness, and be the one who was there for her. He smiled, at the laughter in Steve’s eyes, and left quietly before they noticed.

-

‘Where the hell have you been Buck?’ The voice, loud, shouted at him before he’d even finished walking through the main door. Jacket still half-on, his head was hanging low with exhaustion and all he really, really, needed right now was to sit down and take some painkillers, and for Steve to not be shouting at him.

‘Steve, just don’t.’ He said, as he let himself fall onto the couch, eyes already closed before his head fell against the back. ‘I’m tired and I hurt. Ow!’ His eyes flew open as Steve smacked the back of his head.

‘Yeah, you’re tired and you hurt because you’ve been out god knows all day! What the hell Buck! I was worried!’

Bucky tried to not to grin in the light of Steve’s obvious mix of concern and irritation, but couldn’t keep his face straight.

‘Sorry _Mom_.’ He grinned, and ducked his head to avoid another smack, then he sighed. ‘Look, I just needed to get out. I’ve been walking around. I know it was stupid, I’ve done too much but it’ll pass. I just need coffee and painkillers, and some food, and then the serum can do its thing and I’ll be fine. I just couldn’t be here.

Steve narrowed his eyes, but let his friend off, this time. He headed to the kitchen and loaded up a plate of food, grabbing up the pile of pills and two mugs of coffee in one hand

‘Here,’ he said, setting the plate down on Bucky’s lap and shaking two pills into his hand. ‘But you’re not getting off that lightly. Once you’re feeling better, I can tell you what a punk you are, deserting your friend like that.’ Bucky’s head rose. 

‘She still here?’

‘No, I took her home a coupla hours ago.’ He pointed down to the plate. ‘Eat. I’ll tell you off while you do. Kill two birds with one stone. She’d come all this way to see you, every day, and then you just blow her off the first day you’re up and about? Kinda cold Buck.’

Bucky chewed his mouthful, washed it down with some coffee, and sighed.‘She didn’t come to see me Steve. You goin’ blind or something? It’s you she’s interested in. Both of you making gooey eyes over each other all the time, but I’m glad Stevie.’ He smiled at his friend, and there was more love in his eyes than Steve ever felt he’d earnt. ‘All I’ve ever wanted is for you to find someone who sees you like you deserve. It’s good. Just give me a bit of time to get used to it, and I’ll get a new hat for the wedding and everything.’ His words were light but Steve could hear the sadness and loneliness behind them.

‘Bucky, you’re closer to me than a brother, but you’re the blind one here. She’s not interested in me, and I’m not interested in her. She’s a good friend, I like her, but that’s it. But all she’s ever wanted to do it sit by your bed, and talk about you and hear about you, and watch over you, and worry about you.’ He sighed. ‘You really both as bad as each other, you’re a pair of teenagers and I am too old for this…’

Bucky was unconvinced. ‘Steve, I saw you, hug her, kiss her…’

‘Yeah, to reassure her. That she should be here. She’s been living in her own mind for too long, like you. Sees rejection and guilt all the time, like you. She thinks she shouldn’t be hanging around and getting in the way because she’s not worth it and doesn’t deserve it. Like. You.’

Bucky’s eyes were fixed on Steve’s face as he tried to process what he was hearing.

‘You sure?’ he asked, and Steve nodded.

‘Oh. Oh. Shit.’


	16. Chapter 16

“Nope. Not a chance in hell Buck.” Steve spoke without even bothering to look up from where he was reading the paper over breakfast. He knew Bucky well enough to picture the scowl of frustration on his face and smiled a little to himself to know that he was feeling well enough to be fed up. “You know I’m right,” he added, purely for the satisfaction of hearing Bucky grunt with annoyance. He heard a chair scrape back, and did look up now, to see Bucky slumping down into it, arms crossed.

“OK fine. You’re right. You punk. I’m not well enough to drive out and collect her, so just hurry it up, will you?” His knee twitched up and down in exasperation, and his jaw muscles tensed and released in matching rhythm. Steve looked back down and slowly finished scraping the last of his cereal, tilting the bowl as if checking for any hidden flakes, humming quietly and deliberately to himself. A metal hand appeared in his eyeline and picked up the bowl and Bucky’s voice was low and carefully restrained.

“Don’t test me punk. You won’t like me when I’m angry…” Steve looked up and grinned. 

“Pretty sure that’s Bruce’s line, but OK. I’m going!” His face fell slightly as he moved, resting one hand on Bucky’s shoulder as he paused. “Just think about what you’re going to say OK. You’re both busy feeling bad about yourselves, means it’s hard for anyone to get through to you. Trust me, I’m speaking from experience here. You gotta convince her, that you want her coming around, that she’s a friend.” 

Bucky nodded, a sad smile on his face, as Steve picked up his jacket and left.

She had had a sleepless night. After Bucky had disappeared the day before, she’d sat helplessly as Steve tried to balance his worry for Bucky with being polite and gracious to her. She could sense his embarrassment at Bucky walking out, and his confusion about why he’d left, as well as his concern for his friend. In the end, she’d claimed that she was tired and had things to do, and that she’d better get home, and even then, he’d insisted on driving her home, compounding her guilt. Back at home, she had paced the floor for a while, internally cringing at the nonsense she’d spilt at Steve. She was an adult, and yet somehow she was reduced to this adolescent angst when she thought about him, as if she had the worst kind of crush…

She stopped pacing, and sat down, her eyes wandering unseeing as she let her mind race. She did. She had a crush, on Bucky. A man she barely knew, except from a few short meetings and the anecdotes she’d heard from his friends. She buried her face in her hands and squirmed at how obvious it must have been to everyone. She was like the kids who hung around the Tower at weekends and after school, shrieking if they saw Steve or Tony, but she was at least twice their age. She flung herself back on the couch and banged her head against the backrest a few times in frustration. What must they think? She was a widow, practically middle-aged, and here she was desperate for a word or a look from a man who’d shown her a dash of kindness. Glad that she was alone, she shook herself forcefully, stretched her neck, rolled her shoulders as if preparing for something physical. Time to behave like an adult. 

She was back at her apartment a lot earlier than normal, and so with gritted teeth and a determined look, decided it was time to grow up and be mature. She spent the afternoon and evening ironing clothes, paying bills, pulling out the couch cushions and cleaning underneath them. She forced her mind to stay on what she was doing, and her face was in a permanent scowl as she refused to let herself dwell on the Tower and its occupants. She went out and bought healthy food, refusing to allow herself anything as childish as ice cream or pudding, then forced down a boring and worthy meal, to convince herself she was mature and sensible. She hadn’t drunk for weeks now, and although a part of her still craved it, she wouldn’t give in. After a shower, kept uncomfortably cool so she couldn’t relax, she climbed into bed, where it took her a long time to sleep.

When Bucky finally heard the elevator open the next day, all his carefully thought through plans suddenly seemed wrong. She looked somehow fragile and harder than he remembered, as if she was holding herself stiffly for some reason. He wondered if he’d blown it with his off-hand behaviour, or more likely, that Steve had been wrong all along and she wasn’t bothered about seeing him. 

‘Hi, I made coffee. I have donuts. And bagels. And croissants actually. And some cookies. I wasn’t really sure what you liked...’ His voice trailed off and over her shoulder he saw Steve roll his eyes and mouth ‘kids’ as he left the room. 

Bucky had never felt so completely incapable of talking to a woman before. He hadn’t actually tried – wanted – to make a connection with someone for decades now, and it seemed the easy charm and happy attitude of his youth was long gone. He felt stumbling and tongue-tied, like a fool. _This must be how Steve felt all those years_ , he thought, and his mouth twitched into a little smile. He just wanted to get things right, to help her get past her grief and feel alive again. 

She walked forward and as she rounded the pillar and saw the mountain of pastries he’d bought in a panic, she couldn’t help but snort. His mouth twitched again at the noise and he felt a hot rush through his body as he saw her smile. He suddenly felt young again, hanging around playing the fool and the charmer, just to get a smile from a girl he was crushing on. He faltered a little at that thought. Here he was, best part of a hundred years old, countless deaths at his hand, and he had a schoolboy crush? 

She had been determined to be an adult. To behave, to remember that a crush was laughable, and she should treat the man with the respect due the suffering he had experienced; that she wouldn’t embarrass either of them by demonstrating anything other than pleasure at his recovery. Then she saw him. He was twisting his fingers together, shoulders slightly hunched as if waiting for a blow. His eyes were hopeful and slightly fearful, and she was desperate to protect him and show him what a difference his moments of care had made to her, that his century-long instinct to protect and defend and help was remarkable, and his innate kindness was something he should take pride in. Mostly she wanted to see him smile, because of her. 

Then she saw the food and couldn’t help but chuckle. There were boxes and bags stacked up on the counter, enough to feed all the team, no doubt. As if he sensed her thoughts, Bucky gave a sheepish smile and spoke.

‘I wouldn’t let anyone else have any until you got here, let you choose first. Pretty sure Barton is going to shoot me in my sleep now.’   
She surprised herself by laughing, properly now. He watched with delight as her shoulders relaxed and the tension left her. He didn’t understand it but was glad to see it gone. Now he looked at her properly, for the first time since his accident. She looked well. Her skin was softer, the bags under her eyes were nearly gone, and her eyes looked less ready to cry. He wished somehow that he’d been the one who could have done that for her, that he could have been there to help lighten her grief, but mostly he was just glad that something had changed for her, even if he couldn’t have been the one to do it.

‘You look well,’ she said, echoing his thoughts. ‘Are you healing up OK?’ She had stepped forward, picked up a croissant and was tearing pieces off and eating them slowly as she spoke. A crumb stuck to her lip and he was momentarily distracted by the way her tongue darted out and licked it off. God, he had it worse than he thought. ‘Bucky?’

‘Yeah, sorry, I’m doing OK I guess, for someone who fell down inside a mountain,’ he said, smiling. ‘Body’s healed thanks to the serum and my brain’s nearly there. Few headaches and I’m tired but getting there. You look… well… too.’

‘You mean I look like I might not be living off vodka and whiskey?’ He liked her straight talking, and had forgotten how easily they conversed. They were still to tackle the difficult subjects, but it was nice to fall into comfortable talk. ‘I’m… doing good, I guess. I-.’ She stopped, and drew in a breath, putting the croissant down and brushing off her hands as if to prepare for something. ‘I’ve been here, pretty much every day. So, I’ve been fed, and I’ve given up drinking, haven’t had anything for almost three weeks, which was hard, but, look, I know it’s a bit weird, that I was here, and intruding, and I’m sorry. Your friends have been really nice, putting up with me, and letting me hang around, when they were worried too. I’m really glad you’re doing better. Really glad. I’m gonna let you recover, and be with your friends, and just…’ She gestured vaguely at the door and he realised she was going to leave, and maybe not come back. Before he could think properly, he stood.

‘When Steve told me you were here, every day…jeez, it meant so much.’ He watched her face as he spoke. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, was obviously feeling awkward, and he knew he only had one chance to say the right thing. ‘The team, they really like you, they were glad you were here, and I know you probably stopped Steve from flippin’ out completely. He’s not good at being patient.’ Her cheek twitched with a little smile at the truth of that. He stepped a little closer and her eyes lifted to his in surprise, then dropped back again quickly.

‘Mostly though, it meant so much to me. You gave up your time, even though you didn’t know me that well, and having you around these last days that I’ve actually been awake, seeing you here… it’s helped. I just wanted you to know. I think I’ve been kind of a jerk, because – well, I just have – but if you can stay, I’ll make it up to you. Not just with baked goods. And I’d like it.’

He knew it wasn’t the most articulate he’d ever been, and it was clumsy and graceless, but he was out of practice at this kind of thing. He didn’t want to meet her eyes, so he did what he really wanted, and had done for a while, stepping forward, and putting his arms around her.


	17. Chapter 17

He put his arms around her, and she jerked, startled, in surprise for a second. She wasn’t used to this, to being held. He felt her muscles tense, her shoulders rising, and he started to let go, abashed by making such a mistake. Even as he did though, he felt her relax again, hard muscles releasing and then, unlooked for and unexpected, she put her arms around him. Her cheek rested on his shoulder and he turned his head and felt the softness of her hair against his cheek. It lasted only a second before both pulled away, awkward again, but his skin tingled with her touch.

‘You don’t owe me anything Bucky. Not a thing.’ She busied herself with brushing all the croissant crumbs into a line, avoiding his eyes. ‘Since you saved me, back on that hill, things have turned around, and then I just… cut you off. I’m sorry. I owe you.’ She looked up at that and saw sadness in his eyes. He reached out and rested his hand on hers.

‘I said I’d show you the garden, d’you want to see it?’ He heard her draw in a steadying breath, glad of the respite from uncomfortable conversation, and then she smiled, and it was all worth it.

‘I’d love to. I miss having a garden, show me yours.’ He kept his hand on hers and used it to pull her forward towards the elevator.

Up on the roof garden, he didn’t need to say anything. She let go his hand as soon as they stepped out, and he watched her face light up. She walked ahead of him, lost in her thoughts, and he followed behind and felt his own tensions ease as he watched her. She ran her hands along the plants, then stopped occasionally, rubbing leaves between her fingers, or bending down to breathe in the scent of the flowers. After a few minutes she turned and saw him watching, his face split with a broad smile.

‘I’m sorry! I haven’t been in a garden for so long, I went to the park a few times but it’s just not the same, and this is so beautiful. I haven’t… I haven’t let myself enjoy anything for a long time either.’ His smile faded a little, and he reached for her hand again, pulling her towards a bench near the path.

‘I know that feeling,’ he said, and she smiled. ‘Sit?’

They sat in silence, watching the plants blowing in the breeze, shadows moving across the floor. The silence was comfortable, but both felt they ought to speak, to try and find the right words.

‘So, you are better? You will be, you’ll heal? When I heard that you’d been hurt…’

‘I am. I will be. But. Can I tell you something, that I haven’t told Steve yet?’ She turned her head to look at him. His head was back, enjoying the feeling of sun warm on his face, eyes half closed. ‘I can’t do it again. I don’t want to fight any more. I’ve done enough, haven’t I? I’ve given enough? I can’t ever make up for what I did, I know, but I just can’t keep doing it, any more. I just….’ His voice cracked, and he tilted his head straight again, and tears started to roll down his face. ‘I can’t ever make up for it, but I just don’t want to fight any more. I just want to rest and be at peace. Not be the soldier any more, not cause any more pain. I can’t tell Steve, I know it’ll break his heart because if I stop, maybe he has to admit that he can too, and that we both have to work out what we do, who we are, when we’re not soldiers any more. But isn’t a lifetime enough to give?’

She didn’t have the answers, and she knew he didn’t expect her to. She was the only person that he could speak to about this, the only person he knew and trusted who wasn’t part of his world of missions and training and hard, brutal violence. He rubbed his hand impatiently over his face as if irritated at his own emotions, and his breath shook as he tried to steady himself. Without a thought, she reached over and wrapped her arms around his waist, rested her cheek against his chest now, listened to his heart beating a little too fast. 

‘You shouldn’t have to, if you don’t want to. You’ve seen enough of horror, both of you. All of you. I’ve heard the stories some of the others tell, maybe it’s time you all let someone else take a turn.’

‘There’s no one though. It’s us against all the dark in the world. More than the world, it turns out. Galaxies, universes, and we’re the ones standing in the way.’ She could feel him shudder as he spoke and held him a little tighter. His arm reached around her now and he held on to her, tightly. ‘I want to be able to be happy. I never thought I did, or that I could, until I met you. But now…’ his voice tailed off and she didn’t let herself think about what he meant or how much her heart understood him. He squeezed her again, then drew in a deep breath and let go of her.

‘Tell me about the garden. I know Tony has a team who come up here and make it look good, but I want _you_ to tell me about it.’

They walked through the garden a while longer, and she told him about the plants, easy conversation away from the darker topics that lurked in both their minds. Talking about her interest, sharing her expertise, brought a sparkle to her eyes. Bucky didn’t dare point it out, not wanting to emphasise how happy she seemed, knowing that it would only bring on the guilt, but he thrilled to see it. Her enthusiasm bubbled over and he felt himself seeing the garden as he never had before, through her eyes. What had been just another space, a place to sometimes get away from the rest of the team, but with no interest in what it looked like other than that it was away took on a personality. He followed her lead, smelling flowers that she pointed out, touching soft leaves, rough bark, sun-warm stones. His senses, already heightened by the serum, dazzled his mind, and her presence did the same.

She stayed all day. The team were busy and out of the way, which gave them space to get to know each other. The time they had spent before his accident had been short but meaningful, and now they had to find a way through their confusion. Conversation came slowly, hesitantly at times, but staying on safer topics allowed them to find out about each other. As the day wore on, Bucky led them back inside and they grabbed up food and drink to take outside. His body moved easily, and she saw flashes of the man he had once been in his easy comfort in himself, when he forgot all that he had been through. 

Within a few minutes of settling outside, the rest of the team had joined them, sitting on the grass, relaxing. It was good to see. Barton started throwing scraps of bread over the wall and watching birds swoop down to eat them. Steve lay back on the grass and fell asleep, his eyes shaded by one arm, which gradually turned pinker in the sun’s glare. The afternoon drew on, but nobody wanted to go inside, making desultory conversation in the drowsy heat. Crickets chirped, and bees buzzed, even this high, and every movement felt too much effort. She felt her eyes starting to close, tried to keep them open but eventually lay down on the grass, just for a moment and fell deeply asleep. She stirred a little later when she heard voices talking quietly, and drowsily opened her eyes but couldn’t stay awake. As she drifted off to sleep again, she felt the soft tug of someone stroking her hair, knowing who it was and that he would never have dared if he had thought she was aware.

She woke later when someone spoke her name softly. Sitting up, her mouth felt dry and her skin tight from lying in the sun. She blinked herself awake and saw that there was only Bucky, Steve and herself left in the garden. Steve was awake now, leaning back on his elbows on the grass. His fair skin was pink, and she suspected hers was the same.

‘This was nice,’ he said, looking at her. ‘I can’t remember the last time we all relaxed like that unless you count Tony’s parties. This was just…. Nice. Normal. Made a change.’ He stood and smiled down at her as she propped herself up. ‘Thanks’.

As Steve walked back into the building, she let her eyes wander to the clouds. They were so high here that it was possible to imagine for a moment that there was nobody else but this small group of people in the world. She could believe that there were times they came up here and wished for that, a respite from carrying the safety of the universe. She wished that for all of them, knowing them as she now did.

She turned her head and saw Bucky watching her. He smiled but the light that had been in his eyes earlier had faded. ‘I can’t leave him to it alone,’ he smiled, his face a parody of happiness. ‘I said I’d be with him to the end of the line.’


End file.
